Hunting For Witches
by DevonWren
Summary: AU - Arthur works for his father in the Pendragon Institute for the Eradication of Sorcery, but on his first solo catch...guess which sorcerer he's been sent to find. Merlin/Arthur slash - rated T for later chapters. Expect romantic walks by rivers!
1. Chapter 1

_**This is a new idea I wanted to try out, it's pretty heavily based on a song called 'Hunting for Witches' (hence the title) by Bloc Party – Colin's favourite band!**_

_**So, I would really appreciate any feedback, so you can tell me if it's worth continuing, 'cos I'm still not sure myself. Perhaps I should have finished 'After Before' first, but anyway, here goes.**_

_**Please R&R!**_

**_Oh, and i realise the dates were a bit wrong, so i've just gone back and changed them_**

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Hunting for Witches - Chapter One

A man stood in front of his mirror, a full length gold-framed mirror, that, alone, could signify his wealth. Outside, the clack of horses' hooves stuttered past the open window and a draught fluttered through his blond hair. He cussed and began rearranging it, running lean fingers through the fringe, trying to assign each strand its proper place. Afterwards, he returned to his collar. Turning it upwards, only to turn it down again, making sure it sat symmetrical beneath his mauve jacket.

Beside his own reflection, he saw that one of his pale gold lace curtains had come loose from it holder - he cussed at that as well - and made his way over to re-fasten it. He was a man for attention to detail.

Back at the mirror he stroked a licked finger through both of his eyebrows and then winked - of course, should the action have been queried; he would swear blind he hadn't.

Within minutes, Arthur Pendragon left for the square.

―

He looked at the name and address, considering how long it would take by carriage to get there - four, maybe five, hours. Long enough to think, anyway. This was his first proper opportunity he'd got to prove his worth - a gift from his father in a way. A gift he knew he had to return, he'd received his instructions and he intended to return his catch.

He pushed the lament of faces distorted by grief to the back of his mind, he hardly needed to be thinking about _that_ now, but it wasn't as if you could just erase the crying and the screaming and the disfigured forms, of people either lined up to be shot or, sometimes, burnt, from your mind in an instant - if it was possible, Arthur would have. Many people had died at his and his father's hand, and many more would follow them. This boy being one. This '_boy'_... he thought about how old he could be. Maybe as little as ten - the Pendragon Institute for the Eradication of Sorcery (PIES) wouldn't be able to track them before that age (even _his father_ wasn't allowed medical and government records of anyone below double figures) - _Arthur didn't want to have to think about murdering a child._

What had to be done, had to be done... Not that Arthur had ever _properly_ realised why _this_ had to be done. It had just happened so many times now; he'd forgotten to question it.

He checked the name again as he clambered into the cart, nodding for the horses to be whipped into action. Perhaps he would be able to have some fun with this one - although, for some reason the word 'fun' when it was mingled with death brought a sickening feeling. He played around with pseudonyms, _William_. No, well, maybe. He'd have to assess his victim... _Client - _he mentally corrected himself - first. He might even treat himself to a cup of their tea - surely they wouldn't mind, he could be their long lost cousin, for all they knew - the idea made him laugh. He could stay a few days, get to know them... No, that wouldn't be wise - He might grow attached to the boy, _and that would be unprofessional_. He could imagine the wide eyes of a young child staring up at him, and the botherly affection he could simulate himself feeling for the boy. If he should feel such a connection, or even feel as though they could be friends, he must leave his alone. _But leaving him alone wouldn't render him dead. And Arthur needed the boy dead._ Again, the sick feeling returned. He knew he shouldn't be feeling or thinking like this. He knew his father didn't.

_'Stop it! You're making yourself doubt your own control!'_ He physically kicked himself,

Arthur picked up the newspaper on the seat next to him - discarded by a previous passenger. Overlooking the date, _13th February 1828,_ he skimmed down the first page, smiling slightly as he read the headline.

_PENDRAGON'S REVEAL TRUTH ABOUT RESPECTED POLITICIAN_,

Although, looking down the article, he didn't much appreciate the wife's response - _'He'd only ever used his magic for good, he never hurt anyone_'_ - _Arthur's father had always told him _'Sorcerers are drawn to evil_', if this man had done nothing yet, then he soon would. Why would his father tell him something that wasn't true? His father wouldn't want to mislead him, surely? He'd want what was best for his son; he'd want the family business to be passed into capable hands, hands that would be the ones that continued to rid the world of 'scum'. Remembering what the man looked like, this politician, he couldn't see why he was '_scum_'... Then he remembered his children, and how they'd cried.

_Those faces..._

Death was one thing Arthur had never quite understood, in this line of work, anyway - _why did they have to die?_ People who had _actually_ killed people didn't have to die. He knew this politician had done nothing, _so why had he died_?

Because his father had given the orders, and 'one should never take risks'. To rid the country of _all_ magic is to rid the country of the_ possibilities of bad _magic.

And true, Arthur had seen these people's faces, and he'd seen the anger. He'd seen how they regarded his and his father's accusations - they'd been fuelled by hate.

Suppressing the thought that met him next was like trying to un-swallow something, once it was gone, things didn't physically work in the right way to bring it back - not without something abnormal and a little repulsive happening - _they had been about to die._ Arthur knew how angry he would be if someone had just sentenced him to death. _But he would never be in that position_.

For a moment, his shoes became the politician's black brogues, for a second breathing how this man would have, seeing how this man would have, and understanding how this man would have, and he imagined the pain. Narrowing his eyes, he felt the burn of the flames around his feet, his legs, and his chest. Then he felt the ire towards the two people who had done this to him, who were _doing_ this to him. Who were doing this to his family.

He shook his head. _It wasn't his fault that they had died_. Discounting the fact that they'd been sorcerers, he'd never actually signalled for the deaths - that had always been his father.

But he had never stopped it.

Something twisted in his stomach, a bug? Maybe from the thick, polluting air of the city, maybe he was only noticing it now that they were breathing cleaner, country air.

Truly, the thoughts that had been pestering him for many passing months were a sickness to him; a sickness that stemmed from another _greater_ sickness that medicine would refuse to shake off - _guilt_.

_It was just work_. That was all Arthur could ever let it be.

Especially as he was on his way to his first solo catch. He didn't need to be considering moralities. _He had his father's orders, and this was his chance to prove himself. _

He reverted his mind back to the case - the boy, more precisely. _And again, he could pray it wasn't a child._ Although, if it was, _who's to say he had to hand him over_? He mentally slapped himself; the prospect of going against his father should not cross his mind that easily.

Beside the slowly trundling carriage, trees were becoming closer compacted, the foliage, denser. The light above them was reaching its highest point in the sky, and the cloudy film around it was gleaming a bright blue. He could concentrate on that. The simplicity of the countryside, where no unnatural buildings jutted out from the ground and malformed the horizon. He could breathe clean air and not feel the bitter stench of smoke and coal hitting the back of his throat, but he was worried that the further he got from his usually office based (aside from the occasional execution) occupation, the clearer the clear air was making him see. As if the lack of habitude in the thin gas he was breathing was commencing the irregular and unwanted moral thoughts his brain was thinking.

Maybe it was the work of sorcery - that's what his father would say. _The work of sorcery, trying to bring down that which defies it_.

Of course, he'd _like_ to believe it. But really he couldn't. He was just having first-time-nerves. It was perfectly normal. He suspected his father experienced much the same thing...

Six and a half hours, in the carriage (if you don't count the necessary stops), later - okay, so he'd badly misjudged the timings - a house became visible on the horizon. He took out the piece of paper from his pocket, and unfolded it again, wondering whether or not he'd got the wrong address. _This couldn't possibly be the house, or rather manor, of a sorcerer, could it?_ _He's probably charmed his way into _that_ one_. There was no way anyone would employ a sorcerer with Pendragon's men on the prowl, and without wealth one could not hope to own a place as magnificent as this. Then again, who's to say the wizard had made himself known?

The house itself was surrounded by luscious green grounds, fields and gardens that were littered with flower beds and vegetable gardens. But all of it was kept behind cast iron gates - '_extra protection_' Arthur thought suspiciously. He would have to keep his eyes peeled. Ivy climbed up the sides of the walls and framed the white-paned windows in a way that seemed as if it were from a book. '_A book that held secrets'... 'Here we go again'..._he added, quite sure he was going insane with anxiety.

He was being far too suspicious today - more on-guard even than his father. Maybe that was a good thing. So long as he didn't get caught up in the details and miss the plot.

The coachman momentarily jumped down from his wooden seat and pushed open the gates, before remounting and sending the horses trotting forwards again. The eerie perfection of the place, its _system_ was giving Arthur the faintest feeling of unease. Brushing it aside with one flick of his blond fringe, he refocused on the task.

He hopped from the cart, pulling his small red briefcase down after him, listening to his shoes as they made crunching contact with the gravel driveway. Strangely, that was the only sound. But, looking around him, there were no other houses that should bring about the noise of human activity. This place was completely isolated. The perfect hiding place. Black slate tiles on the roof reflected the afternoon sun, and the windows glinted slightly. The light beige stonework looked as though it had been powdered, each brick meeting the one below it in exactly the centre, with faultless symmetry. The masonry and attention to detail was admirable. And, dare Arthur admit it, the manor was more elegant that anything Arthur's father had ever been able to afford.

The crunch turned to gentle taps as he jogged up the few steps leading up to the front door - a grand burgundy painted oak door with a black iron handle - the same cast iron as the gates.

He knocked thrice, heard the clang of metal against metal and then the clack of hurried footsteps running across tiles.

The door opened slowly, as if its open-er were testing whether or not he had the courage. And Arthur began to speak before he had seen the face, his eyes tracing the ivy that hung about the nearest window, "Hello, you must be-" but something hit him hard in the pit of his stomach, _when his eyes met those, as if-_

"Hello?" a slight raven-haired boy asked, his voice was small and he could barely hold eye contact - Arthur could just about _force_ himself to think '_he's definitely got something to hide'_. But there was something far too innocent about the way his eyes flitted between the porch step and his visitor, something far too endearing about the way every one of his features seemed to have been smoothed into some form of indifference - unprejudiced and impartial - and somewhat perceptive?

"...Merlin." He sighed with a deep regret - regret he hadn't collected a source for yet. "You must be Merlin."

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_**Thank you for reading, and for your time – I know, weirdly formal, huh?**_

_**Reviews, positive or negative, are greatly appreciated. Please tell me if you think I should continue. I won't be offended if you say 'no'.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Okay, chapter 2 may convince you all that this story isn't what you expected, and you may not like it as much because of it. The language isn't as revised as usual, but I wanted to try something different to the heavy description I usually go for. So, please don't hesitate to tell me if you don't think there is enough. I'd be happy to alter this chapter and carry it over to the next.**_

_**Thank you so much for all you reviews on Chapter One, I really didn't expect 9!!**_

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Chapter Two

"Yes, can I help?" The boy smiled, tilting his head and grinning, his lips twitching in a delicately nervous way.

"Um, yes, as a matter of fact, you can. My name's-" he thought about it, the pseudonyms not seeming appropriate - seeing the person he was inevitably going to kill made it feel farcical to lie, he owed him that much respect - if only a first name, "- Arthur. I'm from the..." _Sugar! _Merlin frowned at his hesitation, "the..._ S_tately _H_ome _I_nspection...?" _Oh no! Think!_ _One more word and we could have a problem - the acronym could be a bit too amusing and then it wouldn't be avoidable to be called a farce_. "... _Unit?"_ He sighed, hoping that Merlin hadn't noticed,

But Merlin sniggered, as if he knew what was going through Arthur's mind as he had spoken, and curling his fingers deliberately to open the door completely.

Arthur looked him up and down, able to see him in his entirety for the first time... And what he saw... Well, he hadn't been expecting it; in fact, he would go as far as to admit the heat the filled his chest and head... _This boy was wearing rags... Slack brown trousers tied with a string around his narrow waist and a baggy white tunic_? It didn't fit with the house; _he'd expected nigh-on royalty._

"In that case," he beamed, although his smile vanished within seconds of continuing, "I'll go and get my Master."

"Your _master?" _Arthur repeated, disbelieving,

"That's right, his name's Gaius. He's a former physician of the royal household - was granted the position of a freeman five years ago..." he stopped, his eyes popping and his mouth hanging open slightly - _adorably useless_, Arthur found himself thinking - "Oh no, wait, I... I'll let him explain anything else you want to know, it's not really up to me to say anymore. Anyway, how come you _don't_ know? Gaius is a well-known name."

Arthur felt the flush rise up his neck and cross the expanse of his cheekbones, "Ah, yes, well, I was just, you know, treating it as an address. I wasn't given names."

"Then how come you knew my name? No one knows servants' names,"

He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out for a minute, "You ask too many questions, Merlin. Fetch me this '_Gaius'_ and carry on with whatever it was you were doing." Arthur ignored how much Merlin was smirking. But sure enough, the dark-haired boy disappeared from the doorstep and tottered back into the hallway. Arthur caught a glimpse of the golden ornate frames and varnished dark-wood tables, the stately reminders he'd been too distracted to notice before. He thought speaking to his master would _give him a better idea of this boys background - maybe he had other sorcerers in his family - can you imagine how impressed his father would be if he brought back more than one?_ That would be the making of him. He just had to get past the small inconvenience that Gaius might either not know, or not be willing to sacrifice his servant. _And how would he bring up the topic?_

―

"So, who was it?" Will asked, peeking his head around the kitchen door. He spotted the lanky dark-haired boy fiddling with tea cups by the sink within seconds and weaved his way between the wooden tables and splintering chairs and into a seat opposite him. A quizzing look on his face. He ignored the dark-skinned girl sat peeling potatoes in the corner. He'd never cared for Guinevere.

"Apparently some man from the _Stately Home Inspection Unit_, although, to be perfectly frank, I don't believe a word of it." Merlin replied, smirking as he remembered '_Arthur_'s' deliberation when it came to, quite plainly, inventing the name on the spot. "I only went and got Sir because I had no proof he wasn't who he said he was,"

"Yeah? Well, I think you're being over-suspicious. We're over-due an inspection anyway..."

"Will, we've never had an inspection before," he looked up at his friend, frowning,

"_Exactly,_" he snickered, standing and then striding over to get a tea-tray for the now-prepared tea. "For all we know, the company could have just realised they'd missed us out for the past few years so they're catching up."

Merlin made a noise that signified his doubt - he didn't really want to believe Will's theory. Things were in desperate need of some livening-up around here. The _closest they_ ever got toexcitement was cleaning out Gaius' leech tank. And even that was more... More... _Anxiety and disgust_. "I don't know, although if you ask me-"

"Shut up, Merlin. I don't want to hear any of your stupid theories. Please, just serve the tea and be done with it." Will grinned, slapping Merlin on the back, laughing at how a few droplets of tea spilled onto the table.

Merlin huffed, but, sure enough, stood up and began transferring the tea cups and teapot onto the tray Will had handed him and then made for the door,

"I don't want to discuss this later!" Will called after him, knowing that it was falling on deaf ears - but a boy could try. Truthfully, Will was scared of change. If this _Inspector_ found anything out of the ordinary, he didn't know what would happen - and by 'anything out of the ordinary', Will meant Merlin's magic.

―

Arthur's first impressions of the old man had been '_He'll be easy enough to wheedle the information out of' _and_ 'he looks like a soft touch_', but there was something quite ominous about that eyebrow, and the way its triangular point reached halfway up his forehead. He'd smiled and shaken Gaius's wrinkled hand without any doubt that this case would be a success, but now he was hearing about the_ last time_ this man had met a boy called Arthur, and his heart was in his mouth. A wave of uncertainty stole his tongue and his fingers on one hand began fidgeting in their set place in his pocket, the fingers on the other played with their grip on his briefcase.

"...Yes. That name rings a bell, as a matter of fact." He'd said, after Arthur introduced himself and his make-believe company again, "A young boy I treated, when I was back serving the Queen and her guests, _Arthur Pendragon,_ no less. I knew of his father's work, so it was quite an honour. Perfectly simple case, though, even with my retrospective inexperience. A barely fractured ankle... Something about a tree, I don't really remember..." Gaius paused in the corridor, Arthur stopping beside him. And the old man wore the most inquisitive expression, as if he were studying every line on the younger man's face, sussing out whether or not his mind was telling him lies as he recognised the blond hair and the blue eyes - _but then, any number of people could have blond hair and blue eyes_. Shaking his head in revision, he continued walking.

They ambled, or rather; Gaius led them, into a wide and well-lit room. Crimson red carpet covered the floor, and matching curtains hung loose and framed the large windows, enhancing the yellow rays that cast orange shadows, highlighting the furniture in an almost ghostly way. Golden trinkets, medical sculptures and equipment twinkled brightly where they were laid on elegant mosaic tables, resting on carefully smoothed embroidered cloths. Arthur pondered over one statue in particular. Although, it was barely worth accounting for, but maybe that was part of the chrome Knight's charm. The detail around his helmet, and the way the feather seemed as though it would almost be soft to the touch. His clothes looked thin and delicate under the vaster plains of his armour. Arthur smiled. But couldn't pinpoint why - he thought it just because he could relate to the soldiers struggle, their position in society, perhaps.

"You like that one?" Gaius asked, stepping towards where Arthur was hunched over and studying the figurine intently,

Arthur looked up, immediately startled. Intuition, that he was here for the wrong reasons and nothing good could come from it, was keeping him on a precarious edge. He nodded slowly, the nod he imagined an art fanatic would give, to show deep and profound interest in a subject.

"Yes, it's a personal favourite of mine, a hand-crafted piece by one of _my own_ servants," he beamed with pride - Arthur couldn't help but think it cute, how a wrinkled, frail old man to find such pleasure in such small things.

Arthur raised an eyebrow - of course, his was in no competition to Gaius' - _one of his own servants_, he could see an interesting piece of evidence emerging, and he intended to bleed it dry. At least, he could convince himself that he intended to bleed it dry, if he didn't remind himself of the undeniably guiltless, nervous, unusual face of the boy in question. From what he'd seen, evil was not on his agenda - but then, that was only based on a first impression, and Arthur had been told how deceiving they could be. In some respects he hoped this one was particularly. He hated being face with the thought of killing an innocent.

"I don't know how the boy does it, I sometimes fear his talents will lead him on to better things. And where would I be without him?" Drinking that foul tea William makes and being served Gwen's lumping mashed potato," he shook his head with a fond smile, "He is, after all, the most competent of my servants, never puts a foot wrong-"

"Sorry to interrupt, but is this the boy who answered the door?" Arthur's burning desire to know _now_ got the better of him, and he took charge.

"Why, yes. Merlin, his name is, charming young boy. One day, I can only hope he will become my apprentice - I would love to pass on my knowledge to such an intriguing youthful mind."

Arthur thought, considering how Gaius had seemed genuinely astonished at this boy's talents, which, in themselves, seemed highly unlikely - _it was just screaming 'magic'_ - perhaps the white-haired physician _wasn't_ _aware_. And then he considered the fondness he had heard in his dulcet tones- Gaius actually _liked_ this boy - had he not done anything to even indicate he could be evil? "Has he done more pieces like this one?" It was an easy question, and it kept the conversation on Merlin - he was searching for clues.

"Yes, I have various models around the house, horses, dragons, the occasional flower, but those phases are short-lived, he tends to focus mainly on the image of Knights. I've never properly understood why," he gazed for a brief moment into the air in front of him, pondering his own uncertainty, giving Arthur a moment to do the same on his.

"And how long does he take to do them?"

Gaius frowned, eyeing Arthur up and down once more. The thought '_Is that really relevant?_' Plain for everyone. "Well... I don't really know, I've never queried it."

"Oh." He was aware that he might be coming across a little strange, _why should he show so much interest in a servant?_ But the adrenaline that was pulsing through his veins was too rich to deny, "How long has Merlin worked for you?"

"Five years, he was the first person I employed, he started at the tender age of fifteen..." the old man took a seat in the centre of the room, and Arthur followed suit, sitting in the opposite crushed velvet red armchair. Conspicuousness was entirely expected, these questions were not what a Home Inspector would ask. "...I'm curious to ask why you demand so much information about the boy. Have you met him before?"

"No." but as soon as Arthur had said it, he realised his mistake - saying 'yes' would have had a far better chance at dampening Gaius' suspicion, but instead he'd fired it up. Added fuel into the flame. "_Well,_" he reasoned, raising an upward-facing palm, as naturally as he could - inside he was choking, he'd really messed this one up, "I just recognised his face. That's all," he quickly added,

"He doesn't really have a face you could forget, Sir,"

"As I said, I _recognised_ his face. I don't _know_ it."

The frail old man nodded, not believing a word, but he didn't feel the need to delve any further. His guest should be leaving soon. "How long do you intend to stay for, it's obvious to see you have arrived too late in the day to make travelling back to London an option worth considering. Dare I say it; the roads are dangerous at night. Travelling with only one other could be a severe mistake," he pointed out, a nearly unparalleled ability to care for everyone becoming apparent. This man was a logical thinker, one who considered all possibilities, however grave.

"True. It all depends on whether or not I feel I have made an assessment with enough detail, after only, one, two days." He was careful to use the word 'only,' he thought he may need to stay for more,

"Very well, I will get Merlin to show you to the spare bedroom, you can stay as long as you wish." he smiled kindly - the evidence that this man was one who loved to cater, and was only too pleased to have interesting new company. Arthur nodded his thanks, and took to planning his questions. But Gaius' smile vanished as he remembered something. "Oh, just to warn you, my niece is coming to stay with me this coming Wednesday. So long as you are comfortable with her around, you may stay. But please, do not feel obliged out of mere politeness,"

"Certainly not,"

"Your Tea, Sir," a small voice came from behind them, and Arthur's eyes were immediately seized. Merlin stood awkwardly in the doorway holding a metal tray, laden with drinks, in his hands. A small tuft of hair was sticking up at the back of his head, and Arthur didn't know whether to giggle or get up and stroke it back down. Soft - he could imagine the hair feeling soft.

"Wonderful," Gaius exclaimed and beckoned for the tray to be placed on his neighbouring table.

Arthur watched the young boy pad over, trying to resist the urge to smile at how his eyes never left the teapot. And then trying to resist the urge to laugh as Merlin's left foot caught behind his right and nearly sent him tumbling into his master.

"Do be careful, I don't want to have to pay for this armchair to be cleaned again." He smiled, but his arms remained outstretched - in case he should have to catch him.

Merlin nodded and blushed all the way up to those large and endearing ears, glancing over at Arthur for less than a second. And Arthur thought it ridiculous how someone magical could be clumsy. He thought they would have power enough to make themselves perfect, rid themselves of anything that made them that bit more human. Why be human when you could be superhuman? But the swirl of the blue eyes, he remembered making contact with, seemed to beg that this sorcerer was happy enough how he was - his talent for sculpture had certainly not lead him to leave this place. And the kindness he had seen in Gaius' eyes was enough to make him think that Merlin was loved here. As strange as it should be - he knew the master was caring towards his servants, this one in particular.

"I shall call when we have finished, and you can show our visitor to the spare bedroom,"

Merlin's eyes shot up, and for a second, he looked petrified. The prospect of him staying was... Well, he didn't know what it was. But he didn't feel comfortable with it. Merlin knew Arthur was a liar... But he just didn't know _why_ he was lying. Well... He supposed... it would give him a chance to find out. He nodded and backed out of the room. Mind swirling with possibility.

Arthur's eyes followed him with an unnecessary amount of fascination. To the eye, the boy was really quite something, interesting and captivating. Large ears, piercing blue eyes, plump rose coloured lips and the smooth shadowing under his pronounced cheekbones - it was impossible not to _want_ to look at him. He blinked and turned back to Gaius, who handed him the tea. "Thank you,"

"Is there anything you wish to know from me, in particular?"

Arthur sipped the drink, biding his time as he desperately tried to conjure some ideas, "Yes, but only a few." he said, swallowing heavily, "mainly regarding the upkeep of the gardens as well as the interior. With such large houses you can never be too sure that the money is being spent appropriately on maintenance," he continued, finding his stride, "I've visited a number of houses in my time, ones that have not passed their assessment, at least, not to the standard that is preferred. And then two or three years later, the occupant dies, or leaves, and the previously indicated damage changes into something really quite serious. I've seen plots of land be rendered useless after its former occupants have left because they didn't look after it properly." he smiled, seeing the reassurance flit across his 'client's' face, "I'd hate to see anymore of the governments funds wasted on rectifying the public's mistakes, don't you agree?"

"Of course. But you must understand, this house is my livelihood. It's what I spent years working towards; I would not simply abandon it,"

"No, no, of course. I do not know you well enough to make such a conclusion, but wouldn't you prefer for any potential problems to be brought to your attention?"

He nodded. Perplexed, yet satisfied by this supposed knowledge. Not just _anyone_ was allowed to spend the night in his home - he's wanted to make as certain as he could that this was not just _anyone..._

Arthur knew his story was thin, but he would have tonight to thicken it up, perhaps to invent some of those afore mentioned previous examples, and decide why, exactly, it was that the government had established a company that specialised in this precise thing. "So, I will start my investigations tomorrow, and I will need to interview your staff..." something flared in Arthur's chest - he'd just founded his own chance to speak one-to-one with Merlin. And he feared it wasn't just his mission, so to speak, that made that prospect so inviting. Maybe it was those ears... "Anyway, those questions I need to ask you..."

―

Arthur followed like a puppy as Merlin led him to the spare bedroom. He wasn't looking at the intricate tapestries that lined the walls, depicting battles or religious scenes, and he wasn't watching the several other tables of hand-crafted figurines as they rounded a corridor and began the second ascent of stairs. He was far too interested in the back of Merlin's head. And the grin that he'd seen spread over his face as he'd entered the lounge at Gaius' request. "It's just down here," the boy said, turning his head only slightly to the side, just enough that he ensured Arthur would hear him. Professional and precise, Arthur thought.

_Although, how was he supposed to reply to that?_ Maybe he wasn't.

Merlin opened a thick mahogany door, when they reached the end of a dimly lit corridor, and Arthur watched the bony fingers on the handle. The servant stepped back against the door to allow Arthur to pass him and stood, waiting for approval. Revealed, was a bright and pale-painted room, the four-poster bed in the centre, along one wall, had a pale blue and white floral duvet. The curtains were the blue to match. The carpet was light beige, but again, the pale blue took the shape of a oval rug. A white-painted armoire was up against the far wall. And Merlin, finally, summoned the courage to move over and place down the briefcase next to it. Ready to be unpacked. "Will you be comfortable?" he asked, twiddling his fingers - there was something about the blond that made him feel so... so... _Inadequate..?_

"I should think so, thank you,"

Merlin bowed his head gently and hurried back to the door,

"Merlin?"

"Yes," he spun back around, child-like innocence and wide blue eyes caught Arthur's heart by surprise.

"Could you bring me up a glass of water, please?"

"Certainly, Sir," he said, and presently left.

Arthur slouched on the bed and deemed his options. How best to reveal the boy's evil streak. _If he had one_... Of course he had one... He was a sorcerer.

But the smile he received when that glass of water came and the glint in those blue eyes, and the messy, ingenuous figure that spoke kindly to him, made him doubt if his father had been rightly informed... Arthur was never meant to doubt his father.

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_**Please review!!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Only a few things to say this time, thanks to everyone who reviewed – 15 reviews for 2 chapters!!! :D**_

_**This chapter is sort of where we see the beginnings of the slash, I had written a previous version of this, but it was so moved-on from the last chapter it didn't seem right to take things to that extent in only chapter 3. So this is slightly more believable. **_

_**Oh, and this is the first of the walks by the river – yes, there will be more, in a few chapters time – seeing as I've planned, and am very excited about this..!**_

_**Anyway, please R&R, I'll love you forever...**_

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Chapter Three

Merlin knocked three times. Arthur listened - at first; he listened to nothing but the silence that spiralled through the air when you _knew_ someone was there, even if they were keeping perfectly still. Part of him heard the near-silent sticky snap when a hand met a cold metal handle, but then the whole of him heard the hush of footsteps along carpet as the servant walked away. Obviously giving up on the supposedly-sleeping Arthur.

To say that Arthur was pleased he'd been given another how-ever-long would have been a lie. Truthfully, something slowed the thud of his heart as he'd heard the resignation, and something made him feel disappointed that Merlin had given up without a little more pestering... Well, that's assuming that it _was_ Merlin. Logically, Gaius would have assigned Merlin the job of looking after him, regarding the interest Arthur had shown; he'd want to make the best impression he could on an inspector, so how better than to give him everything he wants? It was true, Arthur had found some strange niggling fascination with the young boy, but he wouldn't go as far as to say he _wanted_ him! ... He thought. It was merely to do with the fact that Merlin was his primary concern.... He thought. There was nothing strange in a fascination for sorcery, or a fascination that came with his profession... He thought. But the concepts seemed to dwindle slightly, as if they never really accounted for it. He'd been fascinated by people before, only most of the time it had been his father who cornered his attention, or his adopted sister and the way her hair would flutter down over her left shoulder and swirl about the neckline of her dress - and he wouldn't deny how often he'd used _'Your hair looks nice_' as an excuse to look in that _certain area._ Perfectly normal for a man of his stature, perfectly normal for Arthur Pendragon. _But the person he was pretending to be?_ Well, he knew nothing about _him_.

Arthur sat up, forcing the rippled blue sheet to fall from his torso. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms. Not that he'd ever felt the need to do that before, it just seemed to fit with his storybook confusion. He blinked and looked around. First at the opened briefcase beside his wardrobe - and decided he would have to sort that out this morning - and then at the closed curtains and the shards of yellow light that fell through the gap between them. He couldn't tell if it was the blue or not, but this room made him feel... Calm. Yes, it was probably the blue. He swung his legs out from under the covers and groaned under his breath as he shifted himself off of the bed. Padding over to his briefcase full of tightly packed garments, he bent down to pick out the first one that found his hand. He smiled as he thought about how Morgana had spent hours stressing over the fact that he 'needed to look regal'. _Regal_. He scoffed, eyeing the white shirt and pale blue trousers with the most intense scrutiny. Then he looked back into the bag and saw the suede blue jacket. He laughed and kicked the lid shut.

_How long would it be before Morgana discovered the colour red?_ - And he didn't think mauve was acceptable, he wanted blood red. Not the wishy-washy blues, lilacs, and pinks she seemed to indulge in.

He hadn't heard the knock as he quickly removed his nightwear.

―

Merlin stood outside the door - _was Arthur _(he could call him that in his head) _really stupid enough to think he couldn't _hear_ him awake. Sure, he might have gotten away with it the first time, but twice?_ That was taking the biscuit. He tapped his foot impatiently, and tapped finger against the silver tray in time. Sighing, he knocked again, smiling as he heard the rustling stop, but then frowning as he heard it continue.

Then the door swung open.

"Can I help?"

"Um..." Merlin began. His brow furrowing as he took in the red-faced, messy-haired inspector. A long way away from the smart, proper man he'd seen yesterday. But now, he seemed... I don't know... more _human_, more... like Merlin. He should like that. Anyone to talk to other than smart-arse Will or forever-nail-chewing Guinevere. He shook his head back to reality, "I brought you some breakfast?"

Arthur looked down at the plate in the serving boy's hands, and then back up to his eyes. Merlin shivered - couldn't they have sent an _ugly_ inspector? Apparently not. "Thank you, that's kind."

Merlin frowned even further, "just doing my job," he said, then managed a small smile. There was silence. Merlin fidgeted a little under Arthur's severely studying glare, wondering when the Prat would take the tray and let him leave. Finally he piped up, "Would you like me to bring it in for you?"

"No, no. I'll be fine," he said, promptly relieved Merlin of the breakfast and closed the door.

The warlock exhaled deeply, resisting the urge to swear. '_By God, that man's strange - first Gaius tells me about how interested he's been in my sculptures, and now he seems quite content in initiating an impromptu staring contest'._

―

Arthur exhaled heavily, running his free hand through his hair, and then set down the tray on his bedside table.

Well, that decided it then - whatever this fascination originated from, he would pursue it. It wasn't really like he had a choice - he had a job to do, and he would do it... Without fail.

He stared at the tray, the bread, the small amount of cheese, the chicken wing, and then the meagre glass of water. Maybe he would give breakfast a miss. He had things to sort out.

Running fingers over the soft fabric, he tried to smooth out the bed sheets - suppressing the common knowledge that _this was what servants were for_. He would need to talk to Merlin today. So Merlin would be occupied for pretty much as long as Arthur could provide a rational explanation for, he wouldn't want him getting in trouble with Gaius for not doing his work properly... He mentally cussed - now he didn't _want _him in trouble? Just by being there, Arthur was putting him in the most _monumental_ amount of trouble.

For God's sake. Just get on with killing him...

...'_Arthur, this is a boy_. _A boy who's earned an honest living, and by the sounds of things, wouldn't hurt a fly... Maybe I could just... Pretend I got the wrong address... But then father would send Morgana, they'd try the given address again... Then Merlin would die anyway...'_ No, he'd prefer it if he did the deed himself. He owed Merlin that much.

―

Arthur hurried down to the kitchen, empty tray in hand - okay, so he'd been too hungry to skip breakfast (it had always been clear that Arthur's stomach was in charge). He passed a timid-looking girl on the stairs, fighting temptation to call '_it's back luck, you know_' after her. Just for a laugh - spread a bit of the old Pendragon wit about the manor. But it had mainly been her eyes that silenced him, the way they were incredibly wide, and ever so questioning. The way they only met his for less than a second before she looked down and blushed... _'Oh God,'_ Arthur thought, knowing what that flush meant - he'd seen it so many times back in London. From that fleeting glance onwards, her feet couldn't carry her fast enough - he supposed he must have frowned - her deep russet, curly hair bobbing slightly behind her, and her lilac dress following the outline of the stairs.

Arthur sighed and continued his descent. Peering around the corner, one foot clacking as it hit the stone floor; he saw a splintering brown door somewhat ajar and took it to be the kitchen. Perfect place to start.

It creaked, how he would imagine a duck to with its beak welded closed, as he opened it, noticing a figure disappear into a pantry opposite.

Taking his time, waiting for Merlin to return, he looked around. At the food spread clumsily across work tables, and the pots and pans hanging from hooks on the beamed ceiling. All the colours were warm yellows, oranges and browns, save from the spontaneous sprigs of green bursting out of flower boxes under the windows. It reminded Arthur of the kitchen's described in storybooks his father had read to him. Always storybooks. With rugged slate tiles on the floor, dark terracotta painted walls and a lit fire to his left - the flames of which were nearly stretching their branches beyond the protection of the hath. As a chunk of wood shrivelled into the clear root of the fire, the figure re-emerged, and Arthur blinked as he realised it wasn't, in fact, Merlin. It was a considerably shorter, also dark-haired boy who sported an unbearably cheeky grin. A grin Arthur could, and would like to, wipe off with less than a single word. Sure enough, though, the grin vanished when the servant saw him... and his less than amicable glare.

"Can I help?"

"I'm looking for Merlin,"

"Merlin?" he scoffed, "Why would you be looking for him?"

"I have some questions to ask."

"Well, I'm available -"

"That's evident. Tell me, what is your name?"

"William, sir."

"Well, I'm going in alphabetical order. I'm sure if you'd been properly educated you realise that 'M' comes before 'W'."

"What? Alphabetical order using first names? That's -"

"Is there a problem?"

"No."

"So, where's Merlin?"

"He went to the vegetable patch by the East river, said he needs some carrots for dinner..."

Arthur had left before Will could finish. Thankful that he hadn't gone with the pseudonym 'William' after all - not how he'd proposed while on his journey here.

The _actual_ Will, was now stood in the kitchen wondering what exactly had just happened - such a rapid-fire conversation rarely occurred in this house. Everywhere anyone could look there would be peace and an indecent amount of tranquillity. Arthur's obvious aim to perhaps disturb that fact, made him feel uneasy.

―

Sure enough, Merlin was rummaging through the leaves of vegetables by the side of the wider of two rivers. Two rivers that he suspected met further up. There was that storybook repetition again, the birds, whose song seemed to clear the air, making everything seem that little bit more elegant and effortless. The way the colours of the plants only resembled those that were Morgana's favourite - regal and blithely cool. The air itself smelt how it looked, clear, perceptibly non-existent, but fresh and crisp. The occasional whiff of lavender would glide towards him - it brought back memories of those little lavender bags he used to put under his pillow. Edwin had always said it would help him sleep. But he remembered those dreams...

"Merlin!" he called, breaking into a jog, smirking as Merlin's head jerked 'round after merely the first syllable.

"Sir?" he replied, not nearly as loud as he had been announced, and with an adorable... No... With a sublime.... No... With a considerable amount of confusion creasing the skin across his brow and leaving his lips hanging gently open. His vast ears turned slowly red, which made Arthur smirk further.

Breath surprisingly even, Arthur came to a stop beside him, "Please, call me 'Arthur',"

"That would be discourteous..."

"No. It wouldn't. Not if I'd told you it was okay,"

Merlin frowned. Arthur was making a lot of sense, in a strange, barely coherent way. "Right, Arthur it is, then." He smiled, awaiting whatever instruction he was about to be given.

"I'll need to talk to you... With all this business about property condition, I need more than one opinion."

Merlin looked at his muddied hands, then to the kitchen window, then back to Arthur, whose face was bright and enthused, "Oh, right, well, Will's in the kitchen, I'm a little busy right now. I can talk to you later." He crouched once again to withdraw his fifteenth carrot.

Arthur tapped a foot once or twice before stating, with irresistible authority, "Now, Merlin!"

"I really do have a lot to do, _Arthur_." He smiled as politely as possible - hoping that colloquial terms would help shift what would inevitably be a highly awkward conversation. Conversations between two people nearly always were. "I mean, after this I've got your bedroom to sort out -"

"Done." Arthur practically squawked, not hiding his pride - _he'd made a bed!_

"What? Why did you do that?"

"Don't question my own free will, Merlin, just follow me."

Merlin watched as Arthur began to walk beside the river, kicking the neighbouring reeds and running lean fingers through low-hanging leaves from the willow tree above - finding no reason to hide his confusion and distrust, although, the distrust originated from many different things. One in particular being an unspeakable secret - to quote what he'd told Will one summer's afternoon '_Keep the magic secret'_. Oh, how he'd laughed at Will's flabbergasted (and, for once, completely silent) facade.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, annoyed that Merlin hadn't followed immediately.

The servant wiped the mud from his hands onto his trousers and curiously ran so he could fall into step beside the Inspector. "What questions do you want to ask me?"

"Well..." he thought, _Damn it! He was supposed to think of some last night!_ "Would you say Gaius is an honest man?"

"What's that got to do with the state of our home?"

"_Our_ home?" he picked up Merlin's, what he thought to be a, slip,

"Yes, that's right. Gaius has always made it perfectly clear that this is as much _our_ home as it is his."

"Yet you, Will and the quiet girl are still only servants."

"Yes," Merlin said, whilst thinking all-too-hard about what exactly Arthur could mean, "How else would we make money? After all, that's why I came here, to earn money."

"Very good. But do you honestly think that if Gaius had truly meant that this was _your_ home, he'd let you walk around in those rags, "he gestured to Merlin's tattered and mud-strewn attire, and Merlin followed his gaze, "and make you answer to his every beck and call?" Arthur was deliberately poking for nerves, he needed _evidence!_

"I see no reason why he wouldn't." Merlin said, getting fired up for the first time since he could remember - he was generally a tranquil person, but there were certain things he got protective over. One of them being the man he looked to as a father - Gaius. "I am his servant; he treats me with respect and gives me a roof over my head and food enough that I can live and be exceedingly _fat_ if I would like! I choose to be how I am. If I was unhappy, I would leave. But I am not, so I do not. If you are suggesting any stain on Gaius' character, then I do not wish to speak with you." He snapped, crossing his arms across his chest.

Arthur was dumbfounded. His mind twitched, his eyes surveying every small movement that the dark-haired-now-angry boy made, hoping that he would have initiated some involuntary spark of magic - that would give him his reasons. "Of course not. I am sorry if I have offended you," _Not this time..._

"It is not me you should be apologising to." Merlin said, relaxing slightly, and nodding his head in acceptance. "So. What are these questions? - The ones that are actually _about_ the house, if you don't mind,"

"Well," he fiddled with the middle finger on his left hand, and his eyebrows rose. As Merlin uncrossed his arms he became very aware of just how quickly the boy was breathing, just how quickly the thin material of his clothes was rising and falling consecutively. Regret for his rash actions bubbled like a fish held above water under his ribcage, his words had been narrow-minded and selfish - selfishness being a trait he recognised in himself, _just not in front of people_. "Firstly, have you noticed anything that should cause concern around the house?" He droned, making it purposefully obvious how bored he was by the question,

"Aside from you, no."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur challenged, eyeing the boy carefully, but not denying his eyes to widen as they would like, and not forcing back the thin smile that curled his lips,

Merlin's returning smile was much the same - honest and somewhat unguarded. "It's supposed to mean that you're disrupting the natural order of the place."

"Natural order?" he asked, the smile in full-bloom,

"Yes, repetitive routine and all that. The quiet. The idle banter between myself and those I have learnt to tolerate but not entirely like. As dreadfully boring as it might all sound, I've grown used to it. _And_, I've grown to like it."

Arthur was surprised. Merlin's words driving something home that resembled a recently sharpened spear of truth. A servant was never thought to have opinions such as these. A servant was never supposed to reflect on their position - and they most definitely weren't supposed to _like_ it. But more importantly, it was all adding to that painful realisation that London life was not all that it was cracked up to be. Being rich, having a huge house in the centre of town with everything one could ever need on your doorstep, were nothing when you heard words from Merlin's mouth. Everything the boy said was having an unchangeable affect on Arthur's own perception. As if they were spells themselves. Arthur was a man who killed for a living, who was paid to watch families be torn in half and cry into the flames that now ate at their loved one, he was a man who sought acceptance and the pride of his father more with every passing day (every passing day, that is, until now. It seemed irrelevant). And here was Merlin, telling him how he gains more fulfilment from easing someone _else's_ life, living without the greatest amount of luxuries - and telling him that he wouldn't change where he was, even if he was given the option. Comparing _that_ to the incompleteness that Arthur felt, and the numerous times he had wished for something different, something easier... And the reality becomes ever-clearer. He nodded.

"You don't strike me as the sort of person who could say the same." Merlin tried, happy to intrude and invade someone privacy - Arthur guessed it was because he had nothing to lose. Anyway, Arthur didn't seem to mind anymore - Merlin did it in such a sweet-minded way, as if he only had the best intentions at heart. And the smile was making him want to say things, the way you felt comfortable talking to a young child - because they never judge you. As always, there are things that need to be kept quiet - especially if your name was Arthur Pendragon and you were talking to Merlin.

"No, well, with a father like mine..." he trailed off as quickly as he had started speaking, but Merlin waited patiently for an answer, wandering aimlessly beside him, relishing the feel of the gentle breeze through his hair and as it ruffled his clothes. A serene smile rested on his lips, forgetting how Arthur had, moments previous, just insulted his worth, and feeling quite content in the other man's presence - despite the difference in status. Merlin's happiness, Arthur's long-since uncovered _un_happiness, Merlin's lower-class rank, and Arthur's upper-class rank all seemed to even each other out. A much desired equilibrium."Let's just say, he expects more than I'm beginning to realise I can give." It made sense. How Arthur's doubt about the _murders_ (now feeling confident enough to use that word) he would have to commit, was slowly outweighing his certainty in his father. His _faith_ in his father. The boy walking next to him, _alive_, was proof enough. Merlin was also proof that sorcerers didn't have to be evil.

Usually, that sentence would have ended with 'well, he wasn't evil - _yet_'. But Arthur could see the contentment in Merlin's eyes as they squinted against the breeze, and there was an outline of his lanky form through the rippling fabric - that signified his lack of privilege (although, he was sure, if you asked Merlin about privilege, he'd swear blind that he was as privileged as anyone), and he could tell - this man was not evil. He probably wasn't even _mean_. Why would anyone, who had everything they wanted turn to evil?

Jealousy - that was the second emotion Merlin sparked within Arthur, the first being interest.

Merlin turned to look at the blond, clasping his hands behind his back. Deciding that it would still not be wise to tell Arthur how one of the main reasons _why_ he found it so easy to be happy, was because he knew that it was either _this_ or death. If he got into the hands of the likes of Uther Pendragon, he knew he'd only have seconds to breathe.

―

Will pulled back the thin shred of a curtain that hung over the kitchen window and peered out across the grounds, over to the East river. His head was filled with conflicting thoughts, a huge debate that, he knew, gave only _one_ certain answer - the inspector was hiding something.

―

Back in his bedroom, having walked back up from the river, having spent the whole afternoon laughing at anecdotes about misfortunes Merlin had suffered under the unforgiving hands of Will and that vegetable patch, having spent an afternoon that culminated with the phrase '_I thought you said this place was boring_' to which Merlin had corrected, _'_Routine_, not boring_', which had fuelled that now familiar jealousy in Arthur's chest, he pulled out a shirt and breeches from his case. There was one main reason why he'd felt the need to find these garments, a reason that perhaps he wouldn't like to admit to himself.

He laid the red shirt on his bed. The one that had red ruffles (not to a gaudy degree) running down the centre on either side of the buttons. And lay beside it some dark brown breeches. He fiddled with the cuff of one of the sleeves as he thought. Admiring the handy work that went into those ruffles and their delicate red-stitched embroidery - admiring himself for remembering to bring his favourite shirt, it was, after all, the only fleck of colour in his briefcase.

And then, as one last trigger crept into his distracted mind, admiring how good he thought these clothes would look on Merlin...

* * *

_**Please review and tell me how it's going..**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Firstly, I'm really sorry about how long I've taken to update this – damn art exam, only four weeks to prepare?!!! It's certainly a long way from the 20-odd weeks it was for the coursework. So, I'm really sorry if the quality of this chapter has suffered as a consequence. That and I had some sequential problems, what with there being so much talking in this – that and I started writing chapter five before this one, so couldn't remember what was in what chapter – I won't be doing that again...**_

_**Thank you all so so much for the reviews – I couldn't, and still can't, believe how many I've gotten. Broken my record anyway!**_

_**Please review this one as well, and keep me this ridiculously happy! Please..! **_

Chapter Four

Hours and minutes and seconds had been whiled away with pointless conversation - or, at least, that's how anyone else would see it.

In Arthur's opinion, hours and minutes and seconds had been whiled away with _the most relevant_ conversation - getting to grips with his intended catch. Of course, that's how he still had to think of Merlin, no matter how much he had enjoyed their idle chat.

The hours and minutes and seconds had escaped them within the blink of an eye - or with the same unforeseeable speed - and Arthur knew no more about sorcery - and more importantly, no more about Merlin_ as a sorcerer_ - than he had that morning. But he did know a lot more about _Merlin..._ and various vegetables... One thing was for certain - he'd never be able to look at a tomato again, not after the rather vivid description Merlin had given about a facial rash he'd once obtained from one. It still made him smile now.

His lack of necessary answers regarding the property, would only give him another reason to pry for necessary answers regarding Merlin's sorcery - maybe the figurines would be a good place to start.

Safely, and predictably for a Pendragon; he had a scheming plan... _But to set it in motion..?_

He would thank the vegetables once again.

―

He rapped his knuckles across a pane on the outside of the kitchen door, before, strangely, needing to steady his breathing. A flustered pink hand turned the tarnished chrome doorknob, listening to the sound of nothing inside. He flexed his fingers, exhaled, then opened the door, regardless of the fact that he hadn't received a reply.

Inside, there were no lights on. The only illumination being the misty sunbeam that was only just strong enough to produce a wispy shadow, which snuck through the gap between two checked curtains. It did, however, make the density of dust notes seem a lot heavier, like a translucent fog. Arthur felt the need to sweep them from his eyes. An eerie, yet somewhat blissful aura smothered the otherwise ordinary scene. Country kitchen with country curtains and country tables and country chairs. Idyllist for such a dark room.

He heard a quiet scraping and the closed tones of someone humming an unfamiliar tune. '_Merlin_', he thought, and wasn't disappointed in the slightest when he careened his neck around the side of the door. Eyes falling, quite willingly, onto a slender dark-haired boy sat peeling carrots at a crooked old table. _The carrots he'd been picking earlier_, Arthur thought with a blinding smile. "You know, you never did answer the questions I needed to ask." He stated blandly, but with the slightest hint of challenge lashing his tongue, begging for someone to pick up the gauntlet.

Without looking up, Merlin snapped his smart-aleck reply. "You never asked them." Smirking, he moved on to the next carrot. After casually wiping blood from his thumb onto the edge of the table, a crimson bead forming on the inside of the joint from where Arthur's entrance had made him jump. _It didn't hurt_.

Arthur grabbed a chair, with speed that should have startled, and sat opposite him - one elbow resting on the table, and his chin on its clenched fist. "Can I ask you them now?"

"No." Merlin's voice was higher-pitched than usual, giving an obvious but thought-out answer... as if he was reasoning - which he was... Sort of. Reasoning, bar for the reason.

"What, can't you multi-task?" _Mock_-outrage, of course, Arthur felt no true anger at this uncovering - even though he'd expected a sorcerer could do so many things at once. With the swish of a crafted hand. The grey-bearded old man in a purple dress that pranced into his head juggling a billion different coloured spells, and being followed by several dusters, a broomstick, the contents of the crockery cupboard and then, for some reason, a horse, made it hard not to chuckle. Fortunately, Arthur prided himself on his composure... Amongst other, blatantly spectacular, things - like witch-finding.

"Don't be stupid, I'm not a woman..." Their eyes met for the first time, Merlin's mouth mid-speech, and his hands froze mid-carrot. Maybe it was the way Arthur's intent not-completely-open eyes watched him - as if there was no colour but him, as if the receding daylight only made him see clearer. But maybe it was just Merlin attempting to be poetic. He wondered if Arthur had seen or heard his breath hitch, so swallowed and looked down at the pile of chopped vegetables, "Dinner will be ready in half an hour,"

"Brilliant!" Arthur exclaimed, jumping from his seat - consequently sending it crashing backwards to the floor, and also sending Merlin's rocking unnervingly back on its hind legs in surprise. Orange fingers swished in the air helplessly, grabbing at the table edge, a rather amusing shocked expression exploding onto Merlin's face, but he saved himself just in time. As Merlin always did. Especially when his head was so very close to experiencing a full-on collision with a hard, cold, tiled floor. A grin split Arthur's cheeks that flashed his crooked teeth - one that was either revelling in the idea of dinner, or mocking Merlin's own fight for life. "Perfect, in fact. I can talk to you then."

"No. I don't usually eat with Gaius; he eats in the dining room." He smiled, hoping he'd won this one, and also hoping that his face's redness would soon die down and his heart would return to its normal rate. "I eat in here."

"Who says I'm eating with Gaius tonight?" He picked, allowing himself pleasure in seeing Merlin's eyes widen and his brow raise, just slightly, "I'll see you _in here_ in half an hour, then!" That smirk never left Arthur's face.

The smirk that was, worryingly, glowing inside of Merlin, only _his_ teeth were straighter - if a little off-centre.

"But what about Gaius?!" He called, but Arthur was already gone. Raising a conspicuous and hypothesising eyebrow, he tipped the contents of the chopping board into a large silver pot. Only, every hypothesis he came up with, he either dismissed as highly unlikely, not remarkable enough for this _highly remarkable_ man (as Merlin seemed to think of him), or over-indulgent in self-flattery. No, Merlin needed to work on his hypothesising, particularly when it came to Arthur... _Wait... _something clicked inside of Merlin, although, his brain wouldn't ever need to tell him why, or what it meant._ He didn't know his surname..._

―

Arthur bounded into the room. His grin not having left his face since he last left, and his legs were unwilling to let him walk at a normal pace. He just _knew_ his father would be proud of him. Not only would he be uncovering his very first sorcerer, but he would have overcome the desire, that seemed to swell in his stomach at the very thought of Merlin, to become the sorcerer's friend. Uther Pendragon would _have_ to be proud of an accomplishing son. So accomplish, Arthur would.

The truth of _what_ he was going to 'accomplish' hadn't made itself apparent in Arthur's closed and Uther-ridden mind. But then, it hadn't in Merlin's either.

"Wh-?" Merlin began to say, his confused face looking up from the silver pot, brows pressed together and lips parted in an overly accentuated 'o' shape.

"I'm ready for dinner," Simple.

"Well, as I said _less than two minutes ago_, _dinner with be ready in half an hour_."

"I'll wait."

"Look, I've told you, I _can't_ multi-task." Words exuding exasperation, and perhaps a little bit of annoyance at not being left alone, he waved a spoon-clad hand (Arthur noted how it could resemble a wand) in several twisting patterns in the air.

"No, I know. You said. _So_, I'll watch." Watch for what? Arthur didn't specify. To Merlin, he was watching to give him something to do. To Arthur, he was watching for magic. Even the slightest little spark of something extraordinary would guide his eyes, and he had no intention of letting it run away from him.

"Why don't you go and ask Will some questions, I'm sure he'd _love_ to spend the next half-hour sussing out ways to wind you up."

"_Nah_! Not sure I'd get much out of that." He peered out of the window, looking at the other servants - apparently weeding - down by the West river. '_Will_'he thought, the word clipped even in his mind.

"Will would, though - you should really think of others," patronising, and terribly big-for-his-boots - and he knew he had no right.

"Shut up Merlin." Arthur snapped back at his teasing - 'how dare a _servant_ tease me?' (But when that sentence was phrased 'how dare _Merlin_ tease me?' He lost all animosity) - leaning across the table from the place he'd minutes before occupied, amazing himself at how banter with the young boy had become so suddenly so easy. The comfort scared him, as did the liking he had taken to the boy. Despite this, despite the unnerving way his eyes never wavered when they made contact with Merlin's, his father and his job always had to come first. The way things should be if he wants to succeed in this business... - it should have been a question.

Merlin stirred the vegetables with the stock and trudged over to the stove - although, he showed no signs of boredom, no matter how often, Arthur knew, he had to do this.

"Do you always cook?"

Merlin sighed, noting how _'I'll watch'_ had quickly been replaced with _'I'll watch and ask annoying questions - just because I can't keep my mouth shut_'. "No. We take it in turns, Will, Guinevere and I. I cook on Fridays, Mondays and Wednesdays." He replied, his answer sounded like some primary school rota - like the blackboard-cleaning one Arthur remembered. And the dinner table-wiping one - he'd hated that, the lumps of potato, the straggly pieces of over-cooked meat, and then the stray peas that would always roll onto the floor before they let themselves be swept up by his rag of a cloth. This quaint little kitchen was a far cry from the school dining room he had spent his childhood lunchtimes being rounded into.

"That's hardly fair; you cook more than they do." He frowned, childlike crinkles creasing his forehead,

"If you tasted _their_ food, you'd realise that the fact that I _do_ cook more often than them is the reason Gaius is still alive. Lord knows, he needs some _decent_ nutrition to keep his heart pumping -" He turned back to Arthur, clasping a hand tightly over is mouth in awe over what he had just said - insulting one's master is never a good move. He'd just essentially called Gaius old... But he was... Yes, but you don't go shouting it willy-nilly. He looked to the inspector for support, but _he_ was too busy laughing.

"Why doesn't Gaius fire them?" Choking, he resumed the insipid conversation, unintentionally lending that reassurance that 'he wouldn't tell'. Merlin took the seat opposite him, and he smiled.

"He doesn't have the heart. And anyway - they can do the nasty jobs on those days. So, I'm not complaining. Toilet cleaning is certainly not my favourite."

Arthur laughed - again - and then mumbled his agreement - and perhaps his appreciation. "I thought you said you couldn't talk until dinner," stating the obvious, he prodded a finger in the direction of the servant, who was, _doing absolutely nothing_.

"Yeah, well, it was worth a try. Peace and quiet is so hard to find when you live with Will." He shrugged, relaxing into his chair and beaming a perfectly glittering smile.

"What's that?" A voice clipped their heads around, not a pleasant voice either, a harsh, unwelcoming voice. One that clearly disapproved of something. Specifically, Arthur.

"Will." Merlin said, allowing Arthur to just about see the feigned smile out of the corner of his eye. "The inspector here has some questions for you." He said, standing up and sauntering over to check on the soup, clearly feeling more than a decent bit smug at his quick escape.

Outraged - although, he was trying his best to hide it - Arthur looked between the two boys. _For, dare I say it, nearly a whole minute_. Frowning at the different sensations that sizzled in his chest.

When he looked at Will, some sort of deep annoyance and urge to shove him from the room - as coarsely as humanly possible.

When he looked at Merlin, a profound interest in everything that was. Every line that formed on his face, around his lips or eyes as he smiled, or between his eyebrows when he frowned, would pleasure his eyes, and his ears were waiting for those lip's next words with avid expectation... And they continued waiting, even when those words never came.

Arthur put it down to _his catch_. The need to have certain information. He suspected _the knowledge_, when revealed, would turn that around - at least he hoped it would. But the more times his head flicked between the two, he realised, again, his earlier revelation - if it had been Will he'd come to kill, he'd already be dead. With Merlin... It seemed harder. He just couldn't pinpoint why. Or the time his opinion, or better, desire, had changed.

"Come on then, what do you want?" How Will had phrased a question that should have sounded something like _'what do you want to know?_' so aggressively and how he managed to make walking over to a splintering pine chair look so intimidating, Arthur didn't know. But he admired it - or more, he was jealous of it. There was an undeniable amount of power in his movements and his voice, something Arthur had seen many times in his father. But had never quite mastered himself. Little did Arthur know, it was because he was a softer man than his father, one that was capable of unprecedented compassion, and a more confident man than Will.

"Well, um..." _This was unexpected_, but Will's brown eyes were prying for more, and he doubted they were relying entirely on Arthur's_ words_. The way the dilated black focused quite intently on Arthur's blue, and the way his chin was leant forwards, resting on a fist, meant that Arthur had his undivided attention. Not that Arthur wanted it. "I suppose I'll need to know if you've seen anything that might cause concern about the house."

"Aside from you, no." He said, repeating the exact string of conversation Arthur had had with Merlin earlier that afternoon. He heard a stifled giggle from over by the stove as Merlin realised the quirk.

Arthur reddened. Feeling intimidated, and for the first time in his life, victimised - he shouldn't really have known how that felt. But if someone was undermining him, he, sure as hell, would pass it away as soon as he could.

"Fine," Will started, realising that Arthur's silence had lasted long enough that he could claim '_I gave him a _chance'; "I have a question."

Arthur didn't answer vocally, just nodded his head in a reluctant _'fine._'

"How long will you be here for? Only, I can't see why you should need to stay another night."

"If you think that, you_ really_ don't know a lot about my area of work." He fabricated, "And as for how long - I don't know yet, it depends on how cooperative my interviewees are. And then there are my personal inspections."

Will squinted - the typical _'I'm sussing you out_' face. The one that all his father's friends used to use on Arthur. "You should have left by now, if that was the case. Or, at least, if you took your focus off Merlin for a moment and actually attempted to speak to anyone else,"

Arthur was stumped. And silent. And a deepening burgundy colour. He suspected Merlin would be as well. "You don't have any quarrel with my being here, do you?" He tested, quietly - well aware that Merlin didn't _mind _his presence, so would probably accuse Will of being rude if he said anything but '_No'._ With most people 'not-despising' (if Will would have to fake it, i.e. Say 'No') his company, he should have no reason to leave at all soon. But then, _why should he want to stay?_

"Not yet."

He waited for Merlin's help in defence, but felt colossally let-down when he heard the unguarded guffaw from behind him. He shot the boy's back a look that said '_Thanks, Merlin, Thanks very much_.' and continued holding onto what was left of his lion embellished shield.

"Soup smells good, Merlin," he tried, changing the Arthur-degrading conversation to one he hoped he would feel comfortable in.

"Shut up," was all that snapped back,

"Excuse me!" he turned his chair to face him, mouth wide and eyes popping out of their sockets. To say he was offended, amongst riddled confusion, would be an understatement. "There's no need to speak to me like that. Aren't I allowed to compliment your cooking? Especially as I know firsthand from last night's dinner that good food is hard to come by in this house."

"Just stop it." Merlin retorted, the immature bite to his words returning. But Arthur could hear the width to the sound that came with smirking.

Twenty Minutes later, Merlin dished up two bowls of vegetable soup and placed them on the kitchen table. He gave a tray carrying three others to Will. Who grunted, but sure enough scurried off to deliver one to Gaius and eat the others with Guinevere as they finished the gardening for today. Arthur, had, in his usually mock-caring way, queried why they were still gardening at this hour, but Merlin just said that it saved them from the early morning jobs of tomorrow. Perfect sense, of course, and highly convenient. "So," Arthur began, taking the first slurp of the surprisingly tasty soup - a long shot from the... _Whatever_ it was Guinevere (as he now knew her) had served up the night before - casually hiding the grimace as he burnt his tongue. _Great, he would be tasting metal for the rest of the day_. "Tell me about this hidden talent of yours,"

He noted the fear in Merlin's eyes as he completely misunderstood, and he thought he heard the silence that had followed his heart stopping, "_I'm sorry_, what?"

Internally snickering at his own slyness, he listened for a subtle - perhaps near silent - mutter of some curse, but the ringing silence only drew recognition to the disappointment he should be feeling at his plan not having worked. However, he was quietly relieved - he could stay a bit longer. He was really beginning to enjoy his random and loose banter with the young boy. And the house wasn't half bad. "The figurines," he said, swallowing another scorching mouthful of soup.

Merlin frowned as Arthur's lips peeled back from his teeth, dropping his spoon and rushing for some water.

Arthur stared at the water in the cup that was being held out to him, he was sure his face was displaying nothing but imprudent confusion. _Merlin, a servant, was offering him water_ - ordinary enough if he hadn't seen the... the _concern (?)_ in Merlin's eyes. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought Merlin cared. Taking it, nonetheless, he sighed slightly as the cool slipped down his throat.

"Sorry, what was that?" Merlin asked, having forgotten their previous stunted exchange,

"The figurines, it's not exactly _usual_ for a servant to possess a talent such as that."

"No? Well, it's just a hobby."

"Don't be modest. You should allow yourself some pride,"

Merlin blushed, smiling sweetly and ducking his head out of the line of Arthur's encouragement. "As you said, a servant shouldn't exactly have a... _Talent_," he frowned upon the word, "such as that."

"That's not what I said; I said it 'wasn't usual'." He shook his head, letting his speech rippled a little as he laughed gently, "I, for one, think you should pursue it, take yourself up in the world. You could have your own business, "Here he was, giving advice to a sorcerer. But, come on, he could picture the news article. Arthur Pendragon, heir to the Pendragon estate and well-established company, bringing down someone who he helped climb the ladder to fame. His father would be proud of him _then_. The blush and insecure shake of a dark head that faced him now, brought something to his attention, something he'd been desperately forcing to the back of his mind - no matter how hard he tried to think of this boy as a 'catch', he would always be a boy, a boy with incredible potential, who would never do anything to hurt anybody, who has devoted himself to serving someone _else_. No one like that should die. And, for some inexplicable reason, it seemed a hell of a lot worse that that person was _Merlin_... Rather than, say, Guinevere.

"I'm quite content with things how they are here."

"So you keep saying," surveying his every move, and every blink, Arthur stopped eating for a moment, again toying with how strange it was that Merlin was quite this content with less than middle class, "I just don't see the reasons behind it." - That had been a lie; this afternoon had made Merlin's reasons so very clear. Maybe he just wanted to hear them again; maybe his mind was trying to convince the rest of him that he was missing out - that money wasn't everything. That happiness relied on so much more. The only trouble was - _he already knew that_. He just didn't feel strong enough to escape - expecting to plod on as normal... _Despite the discontentment?_ Surely, Arthur knew too much self-worth to allow that?

"I have everything I could ever need, why burden myself with the stresses of anything else?" Something twanged in Merlin's chest at the former. There was still something that would always be missing - but - he just expected to plod on as normal.

"Sometimes, you take me by surprise, Merlin." The words flying out of Arthur's mouth before he'd had a chance to properly assess and modify them.

"How can I _possibly_ take you by surprise when you've known me no more than two days?"

"I think I know you well enough." - Meaning, '_I know sorcerer's well enough_', truly, when he thought of all he knew of Merlin, he only knew good. He only knew that smile that was so infectious, and he only knew the way his eyes declared such innocence even when there was so much to be hidden. Concealed for the violent, unforgiving likes of Arthur... No... From _Uther_ Pendragon... _Arthur_ Pendragon... He'd decided... As of a few seconds ago... Could be _exactly _who he wanted to be. And _exactly_ who he wanted to be... Was _Merlin..._

That second emotion Merlin had shown him was repeating itself, only this time, entwined with a third - _longing_.

"I could help you, you know, make something of yourself." He should like that, to help Merlin - even when he knew he was supposed to be doing the opposite. And he could imagine the grace Merlin would raise to popularity with - and he, once again, envied it. This time, acknowledging where Merlin could reach with those careful trained lean fingers, his thoughts weren't followed immediately by how proud his father would be. The change was quick. But he understood every alteration in the heat that he felt in his chest. So nothing was a shock, and nothing did he feel was wrong.

"Now, why would you want to do that?" Merlin frowned, a light smile quirking the corner of his lips, and his voice took a thinner thickness. Mocking, but essentially keeping the connotations rich in his words. He wouldn't deny it - he _wanted_ to believe the inspector. Hang on, this man is in _property_! How would he know about _sculpture_?

"You have potential, that's more than any man I usually come across,"

"And what sort of men do you usually come across, Arthur?" Prying, but with an irresistible twang that sounded as if he were trying to be alluring - Arthur noticed, and shifted in his chair, he probably shouldn't be noticing something like that...

Momentarily stunned to silence by the idea of _Merlin_ being seductive, he blinked, rearranged himself again, and then prepared the truth into a more relevant phrase. "... Rich men..." He said, turning sour at the thought of the golden curtain-rail in his father's lounge, the embellished candle-sticks and plates and glasses and tapestries. They were all such small things, so expensive, so unnecessary. And they said the most about his father. They said it was even the smaller indications of wealth that Uther Pendragon could afford. But still_ he_ was sour; still he felt the need to kill... Something Arthur thought he would have to devote his own life to... Something Merlin's eyes were telling him_ wasn't right_."Men who have made their names through other people, people further down the chain, but rich men who still profess that they are the real talent,"

"Men like your father?"

"What?" His thoughts had been echoed in a voice that wasn't his own, and Arthur felt warmth that fled through his limbs. Warmth he thought came from _not having to say_.

"I'm sorry, that was out of line." Merlin ducked out of Arthur's eye-line, but Arthur ducked his head in compensation - he didn't want to let this go.

"No, tell me what you meant," a hand instinctively reached across the table, but hovered just above the half-way line, deciding his place. But the piercing blue of Merlin's eyes responded perfectly, darting up to meet him. Catching something that must have already been stuck in Arthur's throat - because he didn't understand how it had gotten there.

"Well, what you said about him earlier, I guessed... And I shouldn't have... I just guessed that you and him have had your differences. I made the connection. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. I'm actually amazed you were listening, an idiot like you," defence mode - insulting seemed the only way to masked his inner conflict. His inner indecision.

Merlin snickered, but answered with endearing sincerity, "I don't think you should let it matter what he thinks, if you believe you're doing something right... Then, to you, at least, it is. Surely that is enough."

Those words would mean more to Arthur than he was just now thinking, he took another spoonful of the now cooling soup, "My father and I, it's not really the same scenario as the rich man. We've never had arguments; I just always followed his lead. That's what he wanted me to do. And now, finally, when he's given me a chance to prove my worth, I'm beginning to see that I don't want it,"

"You should never have to prove your worth to your own father,"

"What about your father,"

"I barely knew him, and then when I met him, he died. He was attacked by... By..." He couldn't speak allowed why his father had been killed, and under whose hands it had been. But his mind played them on repeat. Uther Pendragon, the murderer of sorcerers. The murderer of the innocent. "Well, it doesn't matter. The point is - I never knew him to experience the problems you speak of. I suppose I should be glad."

"No. You should not. It is better to have a father you disagree with, than no father at all,"

"Thanks," he spat, giggling lightly as his voice took on a hideous amount of sarcasm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That was insensitive," Arthur shook his head and raised the hand that had tried to find Merlin's. Pressure forced guilt into his chest, and his eyes felt heavy against his eyelids. His mouth was so careless.

"It doesn't matter." Merlin dismissed, grinning in a way that would steal the light back into a darkening room, helping Arthur, as his words and eyes and smiles unintentionally seemed to be doing, to see clearer. "Don't worry, I'm just a servant, you shouldn't have to worry about me."

"You're not just a servant, Merlin. You are as much a person as I am. I shouldn't speak so coarsely about something as close to you as that. I'm sorry." No longer letting his head block the way of his... Well, he didn't rightly know, he reached a hand over the table, and for a moment, without thinking, rested his hand on Merlin's sleeve. _Never on the skin of his hand_. He withdrew when he realised how far behind him the line he had just crossed was quickly becoming.

Merlin sat, feeling the warmth through the cloth with no shame. Letting his eyes fall upon the only face that brought him delight to know it listened. Before taking those vital steps to keep on the right side of propriety -"If you pass me your bowl, I can begin the washing-up,"

Arthur did as Merlin had suggested, then resolved to watch him, and to think upon his own discontentment, as he seemed to want to do so frequently. And then he thought upon how the movement of Merlin's mouth only seemed to draw reason for him to doubt, amongst reason for him to feel certain of something completely different.

With more truth than he'd needed to believe, he realised where his heart was begging him to be. What it was begging him to give up, and what it was begging him to embrace. To give up the Institute and its dishonest and brutal ways, and to embrace the life Merlin was showing him.

And it tugged at the valves of his heart, restricting the blood flow and forcing it the wrong way through his veins. It sent nauseating blood chugging up to his brain, and clogged the nerves with the red mixed and confused liquid. His whole body was sent shivering into reverse - and so were his thought patterns. Everything he'd learnt just _disappeared_, replaced by that which he _needed to know._

Vegetable soup had the potential to teach you so much about yourself, and even more about who you wanted to be.

Especially, when it came with a side-order of Merlin.

_**Please review! The next chapter promises to throw a spanner in the works – you'll probably be able to guess what happens...**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**This could be perceived as a twist, I don't really know. I thought it was quite obvious – but I don't know if that's just because I'm the one writing it. Anyway, thank you all for the lovely reviews, and enjoy!**_

_**Turning point ahead!**_

_**(And also, I tried to explain that this is Sunday, the meal thing was Friday, I don't know if I made that particularly clear. The next chapter will be Monday)**_

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Chapter Five

There was a knock - as there always was.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, and his heart seemed to do the same thing. He looked through stinging eyes towards the window - it was still dark.

That meant Merlin was early...

But there was no second set of knocks, just the crash and the three muffled thuds that signified someone had just entered unannounced.

"Mer-?" he started, but was cut off by a tight hand yanking him out of bed.

"Come on, Arthur, tell me. Why are you still here? No Inspector needs to stay for a _third_ day!" Not that he gave Arthur a chance to spin his well-practised story. "And don't give me that rubbish about Stately Home Inspection!" He waved a dismissive hand, "I want to know why you're so interested in Merlin!" Will was fidgeting from one foot to another - how a boxer would before the first round - ire turning his eyes black.

Arthur couldn't speak, for he truly didn't know the answer. Should he lie? Looking at the fuming Will's cynically purple, round-cheeked face, he decided not. "I... Well... He's nice,"

The feet slowed, and for a moment Arthur thought he was relaxing into the situation, but the rage in his eyes just multiplied. Driving some crazed twist through his upper lip. He leaned in, a finger mere millimetres from Arthur's nose, above his drying mouth. "You leave him alone," then his tone was quiet - he wanted time to relish his next remark and the innocence it peeled back, "I know what you're doing."

Meaning and reason swelled from those words to the back of Arthur's throat, leaving his tongue tasteless and his breathing empty. The comprehension he was sure they now shared was so loud he didn't hear the door slam, bounce back into the room, and then slam again. And he didn't feel the tremor through the floor.

If he had, his thoughts would have been '_Don't wake Merlin_.'

―

Will had had days to gather his thoughts, filter the evidence and divide it into distinct piles:

The important things,

The insignificant things,

And the things he would, regardless of their irrelevance, later use against Arthur. The way Guinevere would blush at the mention of his name, for starters.

His accusation, as vague as it had been, had had the effect he'd wanted - the shock and fear in those eyes had practically dished the truth out on a plate:

Arthur knew about Merlin's magic. And he wanted the money he'd been promised by the likes of _Uther Pendragon_.

That's all any man seemed to be, any man Will had come across anyway, _lusting for wealth_.

―

Silently, Arthur crept across the landing. Saturday had taught him enough to know where he could find the boy. So Sunday brought with it its own curiosity. Curiosity he couldn't quite place yet. Was it to find clues? Or was it to see Merlin? The one he'd quite happily been smiling at as he'd passed him in the corridor the day previous. The one he'd quite happily call a prospective friend - if it wasn't for his magic. One thing was more certain than anything else, though - _he needed to get out of here fast_. If Will knew, how long would it be before he told Merlin? Arthur's feet stopped as something hit him:

_Maybe the only way around this would be for him to come clean before Will had the chance. _

_Therefore, if he told him first._

He continued down a long dark corridor, determination lengthening his strides. Noticing with, at first, little interest how the paint was becoming more chipped as he adventured down it, how there were no more ornate tapestries or vibrant paintings. Just the deep mauve of the manor walls. Even the floor was lacking the varnish it had once had. Should this have made him angry? Because something shifting inside his chest, that he thought he recognised to be anger, was giving him an irrational plan of action.

The offer he'd given Merlin on that Friday evening. To take him away from all of this. Well, the seriousness he now recollected it with was exponentially increasing.

He flung open the end door with little deliberation, feeling a gush of cool air hit him full-force in the face as it flushed through the large open window on the opposite side of the room. The scene he saw should have let his jaw drop, but it only made him clench it harder. The gentle clink of metal as forks and pots and pans danced in amongst cloths and bubbles in the centre of the room, contradicted the innocence of the bird song outside. And the trousers that wound themselves through an old mahogany trouser-press strode across the floor to fold and arrange themselves on the servant's bed. A pair of leather shoes shined themselves by his feet. A tall, thin boy sat in a tattered floral armchair, his eyes having snapped up at the sound of the door being crudely opened. He wore a beetroot expression that illustrated so many profanities that Arthur did have the thought to recount them all. He laid the book he had been reading on a small wooden table, and made to stand up. Never breaking eye contact. His face drawn forlorn with fear and his fingers stretched and straightened by his sides. "Merlin?" Arthur asked, surprised at his own surprise, which percolated through his voice.

The servant just stood, his breathing having stopped entirely, waving down the several chores that were miraculously completing themselves around their heads. Only the shoe-shining continued. But Arthur thought that may have been overlooked.

Merlin stuttered a few syllables, entirely incoherent if you didn't count the knowledge that Arthur knew exactly what he was trying to say - "Promise you won't tell."

The statement, once spoken, required so much from both of them, so much that a fledgling relationship such as theirs couldn't possibly support... So seconds froze between them:

Merlin suspended by hope - hope that he could invest such trust in this man, as briefly as they had known each other. Hope, with enchanting naivety, that he could invest _his life_.

Arthur suspended by mind-numbing impossibilities. '_I promise_' would end his career; it would betray a striven-for delicate trust between himself and his father, by establishing a trust with strength that could blot out even a promise of renewed life. '_I can't_', although his snub-nosed father would be laughing if those words left _his_ lips, Arthur was not his father. Two words would end this ordeal, and the friendship he'd discovered he needed to have, and, more than all of that, it would end the glint in Merlin's young eyes. He could never _want_ that.

That's when it hit him, harder than the thrill of any train or carriage he'd been carried by, on whatever arrest his father had taken him on, harder than any whip that had been lashed across a sorcerers back. It was the truth. Evil - the sort his father despised - only came about when the sorcerer was convicted. That's when he saw the madness in their eyes. Not before, when they could live in secrecy amongst those they could _trust _(the trust Merlin asked of him now), and before now, seconds from death had been the only time he'd properly seen them. His father had kept him away, '_protected_'... No, _just in the dark_ - so he couldn't see the kindness, the innocence and the ability to love. When Uther Pendragon inflicted pain - _that_ was when he saw his reason. And Uther Pendragon was a lie - everything he stood for, a lie. He'd manipulated, and killed and punished so many that he'd forgotten to remember why he was doing it - if he had a reason at all. But as it stood, with Merlin's pleading blue eyes looking up at him, Arthur found it hard to see why anyone could bring themselves to kill him, or any remotely like him. He thanked Will for challenging his thoughts, for bringing about one small ember of sight that bloomed into perception.

So, without ache in his chest, without regret, without a trace of sorrow, Arthur smiled and spoke two words. Ones that would later mean so much to him - "I Promise."

Merlin smiled, and his eyelids fluttered with relief as he ran a sweating palm through his ebony hair. The other arm rested on Arthur's shoulder, a thankful and appreciative touch, as he grinned that boyish grin. Lips pausing as if he were about to say something, he leapt from the room. A gentle scraping scratched quieter until silent beside Arthur's feet, as the shoe-shining ceased.

His heart so wanted to believe that he'd made the right decision - that it's influence had gone unnoticed - whatever that minor decision might result in - images of his father spiralled in his head, hurling abuse at him.

This was the first morning that Arthur had solely and completely admitted - he didn't want Merlin to die.

And so the fourth emotion that Merlin had sparked within him became compassion.

But there was still one particular question, that he feared would initiated so many unnecessary lies, Arthur felt he could never answer - _'Did you know?_'

―

He lay in bed that night, replaying what he'd seen in his mind. Letting a smile illuminate his face as he thought about how lazy Merlin had been.

_Lazy_. Not evil.

Shoes shining themselves,

Trousers pressing themselves,

Cutlery and crockery washing and drying themselves...

There was no evil in _that_.

And thinking about those eyes, if he suppressed how aware he was becoming of that fluttering sensation in his stomach when he thought of them, he saw nothing but kindness, an ability to serve someone else and still believe that they are the luckiest person alive.

Specifically, although specificity was highly unnecessary in a race that was so close, he thought it might be Merlin's eyes that had the most affect.

His hair,

His jagged defined fingers,

The shadowing under his over-pronounced cheekbones,

The definition in his character as well as his appearance, his aura.

None of these qualities could be ignored, as shallow as most of them were, because subtract a single one of them and the package would not be complete. This afternoon had taught Arthur _that_ much. He no longer had to care that Merlin was a sorcerer, and he no longer had to hold back because of it. Merlin knew he knew. And for a few days, at least, he could be himself. And he could unlock that cage inside his body that held the screaming, itching, maddening desire to _let _him be Merlin's friend. For, it was, undoubtedly, a friendship of the like he'd never felt before. A friendship he could see himself settling into. Frankly, Arthur didn't think he'd ever properly had a _friend _before. Maybe _that_ was it.

Or maybe it wasn't. Because, he'd been thinking about them. Him and Merlin. And truthfully, it scared him.

* * *

_**So, there we have it, Merlin knows Arthur knows, and Arthur's halfway to admitting that he loves Merlin – not that he entirely does yet, he just doesn't understand that he fancies him yet. Still thinks it's just friendship he's after. Ha ha ha, how wrong can you be?!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm getting slightly concerned by the ever-decreasing amount of description in my writing. It used to do so much and now I don't really think I do enough. But reading it through I can't think of what else to write. And I always get worried about how much description to write after a character's speech. Especially in the middle of a quick conversation. **_

_**Anyway, chapter six. And thanks again for the reviews.**_

* * *

Chapter Six

"Gaius, I wanted to speak to you." Arthur said, stood timidly - for him - up against the door frame. Being careful not to walk too directly into the room. This conversation relied very heavily on being on _Gaius' terms_. By leaning backwards, making it evident that this old man was completely in control, he hoped he'd have a better chance at a positive outcome - he gulped as he remembered how it had been his father who he had learnt this from. But then, he would never have to use it if it wasn't for Merlin. He smiled. Just at the thought.

"Of course," the old man smiled, but there was a tinge of some confusion and investigation in the set of his old, trustworthy eyes. He beckoned for him to sit opposite in a small chair pulled up to his study desk. Looking down over his circular glasses, he frowned - the realisation that had hit Will significantly earlier - _Why was this man still here?_ In fact, Arthur guessed that Gaius had, until this point, completely forgotten he'd even arrived.

"I was wondering if I would be allowed to stay a while longer."

For a torturous moment, Gaius appeared to be thinking about it. Lines thickening across his forehead and his lips turned down at the corner, he looked to a non-existent place before him. As if fascinated by the swirling movements of the dust notes. "May I ask why?" he finally asked.

"I have been considering a break for a while, and I can think of no where better." Flattery? Surely it was worth a try. As unsure of his motives and what _exactly_ it was that he planned to do whilst spending his time here, he knew he'd never find out if he left.

"A holiday?" The confusion flourished across Gaius brow, but the set of his mouth was far from colloquial.

"If you like." Arthur shrugged, pushing himself from the door frame, founding some authority. After all, push-overs would always, unsurprisingly, get pushed over.

"Purely for recreational measure, not to do with your profession?" He checked.

"Indeed." Arthur's upper lips twitched, but he fought the grin - thinking about how he'd practically handed in his resignation already. Uther wouldn't have liked _this_ outcome from his son's first task. The tremor in his son's chest that told him he was willing to _beg_ for a few extra days. A few extra days _with a sorcerer_. Oh, how Arthur would laugh at his father's narrow mind.

"Well, I see no reason why not. I suppose it has been nice to have a fresh face wandering around this old place."Gaius looked back to his desk, before a mocking smile crossed his face, one that insisted his eyes flick back to his visitors face, just to gauge the reaction, "Especially as_ one_ of my servants, in particular, has never looked happier."

Heat flared in Arthur's chest and clawed at his throat, but he refused to let it seep onto his cheeks. He would hold his own. Besides, Merlin was probably just pleased to be able to confide in someone he could... He _thought_ he could trust - Why was everything in his life so riddled with betrayal? He knew he didn't deserve Merlin's smiles... But he would steal them anyway, just how any wealth-lusting nobleman would with gold.

"It's been a long time since I last saw Guinevere smile -"

"_Guinevere?!"_ Arthur exclaimed, eyes popping and mouth hanging open, flashing his teeth in outrage. _Guinevere_, he repeated in his head. _He'd only passed her on the stairs once_.

"Well, yes, who did you think I meant?" The old man was interested again, staring with inquisition that would surely decipher the truth without the need for words.

"Oh, no, it's nothing. I just haven't even spoken to her." Arthur shifted and turned slightly, so his left side was facing Gaius. His fingers played with the buckle of his belt.

"Oh. She seemed quite adamant you'd shared 'a moment' on the stairs a few days ago,"

"No. I may have... _looked_ at her - in the eyes, of course, but nothing more."

"I see," Gaius nodded, frowning down at his papers with the pen poised in his hand, "You may need to speak to her about that. I think she may have read too much into it."

"Yes." Arthur nodded, before adding, "The eye contact lasted only brief seconds."

Merlin entered behind him, his voice noticeably lighter than he remembered it, "Arthur, there is someone who wants to speak to you, a young woman,"

_Could he mean Gwen?_ Surely he would have called her by her name. _Arthur, Gwen wants to speak to you - _more logical? Maybe she'd requested Merlin kept it quiet in front of Gaius, mistakably thinking her master didn't know, maybe she really did think that something could _happen _between them. Merlin flashed him a grin with unparalleled beauty before he left, causing a grunt of recognition from the old man in the chair behind them.

"You thought I meant Merlin, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" But there was no quarrel as to what Gaius had meant, as Arthur turned back to face him.

"When I referred to one of my servants, you thought I meant Merlin."

"Naturally. He is the one I have spoken to most." He adopted the most pompous tone he could manage, arrogance seeming the easiest and most sure-fire route.

Gaius nodded, "You better go and see whoever it is that needs to speak with you, then."

If we were playing by the laws of one specific fate - always trying to keep you on your toes, always proving you wrong, even when you wanted to be - then the reason that it was _not_, in fact, Guinevere who wanted to talk to him, would be simply because Arthur had convinced himself it would be. But as Merlin, who had courteously waited outside of the study for their conversation to finish, guided him to the Grand Hall, Arthur realised that it was a _different_ path of fate that was being really quite persistent. Always reminding him of something he'd left behind, always reminding him of something that threw his whole adapted future into chaos. Arthur dared to draw his mind's attention to how Merlin's smile drooped as he was, for the second time, presented with the dark-haired young woman who stood on the door step. Her ebony hair was swept over one of her shoulders, as it always was. And she wore a tight-fitted lilac dress - those hideously meek colours she was so fond of - and a matching cardigan. Horrendously feminine, if you asked Arthur.

"Morgana." He said, no hint of pleasure in his voice. In fact, he would go as far as to say he would have preferred it if it _had_ been Gwen who wanted to talk to him. At least he would have been able to sort that out with a few harsh words. Not the long explanations and lies that would follow _this_ encounter. _More_ lies to add to the stinking pile of all the lies he already knew he'd have to tell - to her. But compare that pile with the pile of all the lies he'd either told or would have to tell to Merlin, and it seemed pathetic. Especially as he knew the pile of lies for Merlin was so much more important, and potentially, so much more devastating. His heart receded into his stomach, and he heard it bubble as if being torn at by acids.

"Arthur." She acknowledged. A smile that reeked of both happiness and smugness splitting her porcelain cheeks, as she made her way to wrap delicate arms around his neck. "The whole journey here I have been worried about your safety. You've been away for longer than your father expected,"

Arthur shot a terrified look over to Merlin, scared that any more words should leave his step-sister's mouth in the young boy's presence, heat prickled his face. But the servant simply nodded, oblivious to any inner turmoil, and left for the kitchen.

"Is that the boy?" Morgana asked, a sly eyebrow raised,

Now he had a serious problem. If he told her 'yes' would Morgana take it upon herself to speed along proceedings? Or would she let him 'finish' this on his own, understanding a son's need to please his father? If he told her 'no', who would he say the boy was? _Will?_ So what if he was very close to hating the boy's guts? Arthur knew he didn't deserve to die. _But neither did Merlin_. "Yes," - and no, despite the obvious, that was _not_ Arthur choosing Will over Merlin. He'd rather see Will dead. Just, preferably neither. So Plan Z - he thought, as the decision was so rash, and so quickly organised, it deserved no sooner number - was the only plan that _might_ actually work. He was willing to take the risk. Then begged the question - _why?_ Always '_why?_' Because he wanted to be Merlin's friend. Arthur thought it incredibly out-of-character for him to risk his father for a mere friend. Because he liked it here? '_Pfft'_ - no consideration needed.

"Why haven't you brought him back yet?" She looked up at him, deep concern darkening her green eyes, "Has he a close family?" she continued, assuming the usual clingy-relatives story.

"No, he's a servant."

"So, why?"

"Because... Because I know he'd never hurt anyone."

"Right, we need to talk about this somewhere else, Arthur. Your father wouldn't want to hear that." she looked around, eyeing the several doors that lead from the hall with interest and urgency. Arthur lead her over to one which he knew lead to a library. A place he'd spent the last few evenings sat in, indulging in books his father would have thought a waste of time. Fiction was never a waste of time. Not if it gave you a world where anything was possible.

"Since when do you care what Uther thinks?"

Smiling at first, she closed the door behind them, but then some realisation furrowed her brows and caused her head to tilt."...'_Uther'?_ Why did you call him 'Uther'?"

"Because, and _I know_ these things may be too complicated for you to understand, but _that_ is his name," he spelled it out, again resorting to his pompous ways, hiding something he'd rather not comment on. He leant backwards against a table, propping himself up on his hands.

"Shut up." She snapped, but something in her small smile told him that she missed him really. Only she, also, was too pompous to admit it.

"Don't be so stupid then." He remarked, although he knew what Morgana had been too slow to state - he'd never called his father 'Uther'. Always 'Father'. It probably seemed unnatural.

She settled herself on a chair, setting a small bag down beside her. "Tell me, this sorcerer, what's holding you back?"

His head automatically hung, breaking any chance of eye contact, radiating shame that Morgana was quick to pick up on.

"Well, this is what happens when you stay too long. You grow attached. I suppose you think he's a friend?"

Arthur didn't reply. _Not yet_.

"Arthur, he can't ever be your friend, not with all the secrets you have to keep. Can you honestly imagine him wanting to be your friend, _if he knew the truth_?"

_No._

"You've been here three days now, yes?"

"Today is my fourth."

Morgana frowned. "Tomorrow will be your last. You're coming home with me."

"No," he stood up, stepping towards her with wide and irate eyes. _How dare she assume she can tell him what to do? How dare she assume her right is bigger than his? How dare she assume this small enough to be forgotten once overwhelmed by normality...?_

... Like water dripping from one leaf onto another, soon enough, there will be sufficient pool. Sufficient pool for Arthur to realise the sheer fear he should be feeling. Not fear brought about by Morgana's appearance, but fear brought about by the ever growing simmer and slice that fizzed in his chest when he thought of _that boy_. This was not 'small', as he, himself, had just called it. It was huge, and suffocating, and potentially life threatening. And the normality he had thought was normality with Uther and Morgana and the deaths and the chase, was not a normality at all, and never could be without his so-quickly found need. His need being Merlin.

"Why not? I'm trying to help."

"I know, and thank you. But this is... This is above your help. I..." He couldn't explain it. Something flickered behind Morgana's eyes at his hesitation. "I... I need to stay," was all he could conjure.

"Arthur." She started, "You're not...?" But trailed off, leaving the bitter plosive hanging, followed by nothing other than the hiss of their breaths.

Arthur considered her sudden change of heart - it was not like Morgana to stop mid-sentence, she was usually so eager to get a point across that she forgot who she was talking to. But not now. Now she seemed to be thinking, to be listening to her own words inside her head. And she decided they were either wrong, or too obscure to speak aloud. Which, Arthur didn't know. But fear at her silence loosened his tongue. "Not what?"

"Not...?" She tried again, but nothing came out, "No, don't worry. You wouldn't be that stupid,"

And so the conversation was left, as Arthur lead her from the room and up to the neighbouring one to his where she could sleep, with him wondering _if he really was stupid enough_.

_And if he really cared._

―

Morgana had grown bored of her room, the typical behaviour of someone who strove to both stir trouble and problems and mystery, and reach the bottom of trouble and problems and mystery before anyone else. Even if it shouldn't ever have particularly concerned her. Arthur's business, he had come to think, would never entirely be his own. He wouldn't mind or think twice about confiding in Morgana - she was more than a simple 'friend' - but she was close to Uther, she wouldn't hesitate to voice any concerns she had to _him_. Arthur wasn't ready to risk _complete_ ruin just yet.

"Merlin brought me some lunch to my room. He said he wanted to give me time to unpack." Her eyes flashed up, gauging her brother's reaction at the mention of the serving boy's name. She was disappointed at the indifference.

Truthfully, though, Arthur's heart was in his mouth. Drilled into the roof so far that he lost the knowledge of why. So to speak - why not just halfway up his throat?

"I told him we wouldn't be staying much longer,"

Arthur grunted as she frowned and sat on his bed.

―

Noticing with indecent pleasure, as he took Morgana's empty plate down to the kitchens (although he knew Merlin was quite capable of collecting it himself), that he, himself, had not received any lunch. Whether or not this was on purpose, he didn't know. Whether or not he was glad of a certain opportunity he could see arising, he did know. And the slowly familiarising scent of freshly-baked bread was well-welcomed as he entered through the kitchen door. A tall thin boy stood over by the sink under the window, an apron tied tightly around his waist - highlighting the fact that there was barely anything to tie the string around. There was the sound of a sharp knife slicing through crusty bread.

"I brought down Morgana's plate." He stated, a smile tugging at his lips as Merlin twisted his shoulders to face him, beaming a similar such smile but without pretence.

"I could have done that."

"I know, but I was hungry,"

"Yes, about that - I ran out of bread, so I had to bake some more."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and Merlin turned back to the slicing, only to return a few minutes later with two plates, both kitted out with large thickly cut sandwiches.

He trundled over to the large table they'd eaten at the previous Friday, gracefully, and a little dramatically placing the plates on either side of the table. He pulled out a chair, indicating Arthur to sit with a straightened palm - of course, Arthur accepted with as much pretentiousness as he could manage. Letting Merlin _try_ to push the chair in, but soon after, just calling him a '_bony imp_' and happily doing it himself as Merlin took his own seat.

Half-smiling as the thought crossed his mind, Arthur thought about how proud Merlin was. A mere sandwich and a run-down (but quaint) little old kitchen, and Merlin was sure he had a palace. It was the small thankful characteristics that the boy had that made him seem so engaging.

"So, come on then. Who is she?" Merlin asked, his head tilted to the side and slightly backwards, a small inquisitive smile crinkled the skin around his lips,

"She's my sister." Or there abouts. Quick to reply - but hopefully, not so quick that Merlin would pick up on it. Arthur didn't want to waste his time with Merlin talking about her and _their_ lives. Because their lives were burdened and inundated with murder. So unpleasant to think under the watchful and concerned gaze of one of the would-be dead.

"Really?" The question could have been interested or mocking, or maybe sarcastic. Pick any explanation and the answer would have remained the same -

"Yes."

Merlin swallowed a mouthful, "You don't look alike,"

"Different parents." _'Keep it short, Arthur. Keep it short_'.

"So you're not brother and sister?"

"We're near enough," so much for avoiding the long explanation_. 'Bloody persistent fool_',"She's here to tell me to come home."

Merlin, out of nowhere, burst out laughing. His face grinning incredulously and his eyes were upside-down smiles. A look, Arthur, with every time he saw it, found more and more endearing.

"Why is that funny?" He put down his sandwich and leaned across the table, feeling the repetition in his movements from their last dinner together, but feeling the difference in his own intentions. Not to comfort but to scorn.

"You're getting told off by your 'sister'," he laughed again, and the sound was beautiful.

Arthur blushed and bowed his head, concentrating on his sandwich. Never quite leaning back to his original position, his fist under his chin prevented that - maybe another of his brain's useless attempts to tell they'd be better close together. Needless to say, the trial went unnoticed. "We should go for a walk today." Arthur knew how much he'd enjoy another walk with Merlin, knew how his chest would surely implode, and how his head would be filled with unnecessary randomness. Randomness that would drown any sense or sensibility - to quote Jane Austen.

"She'd like that. You could show her the rivers." Merlin said, after he'd calmed down a bit, although the playful twinkle had never left his eyes.

"Erm..." He thought. _Progression is the best way forwards._"I meant _me and you_. But I suppose I should take her. After all, she is leaving in the morning." He backtracked.

"Yeah..." Merlin said. His eyes lost focus and his expression became vacant. His mouth hung open before he coughed and looked down at the food, "You're not leaving with her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I..." He paused, looking up and into those blue eyes again, seeing the reason behind the truth he was about to speak and fearing it no less than one should fear the truth - it petrified him. "I prefer it here." True - he preferred it _with Merlin_.

"Your father will be worried,"

"Let him worry. He's caused me enough." Spirals of bitter twisted hate had started to form around his lungs. Spirals that came to be when he was around the gleaming perfection that he had realised was Merlin, and thought about the hideous deeds and laughter of his father's sickening distaste. It wasn't 'worry' that Uther had caused him; it was hate, all of his own. A hate he'd until a few days ago wanted to overwhelm him, just as it had his father. A hate of sorcerers and magic. But now, he'd rather be one of them, than be his father's son.

"Well, if you're certain -" Merlin interrupted his thoughts. It was as if the boy was supposed to be looking concerned, or at least trying. But no one could deny the weightlessness he spoke and smiled with as Arthur's returning nod confirmed the company would last.

"I am."

"Then we can do the walk tomorrow afternoon. I'm busy today anyway." He chuckled, "you didn't make your bed this morning,"

The blond snorted in amusement - he'd forgotten to steal Merlin's time this morning. He would be sure to remember the thievery tomorrow. Soon enough, he hoped, Merlin's time would be as much his as it was Merlin's - that way he wouldn't need to steal.

* * *

_**Okay, so I know Morgana was a bit OOC, but so was Merlin, and so was Arthur – I seem to be forgetting how they talk, no matter how many episodes I manage to cram in before I write a chapter. **_

_**Please review – and yes, Arthur's going to come clean next chapter. But have no fear! Once again one little thing mentioned in a previous chapter will make them realise how much they need and love each other! Although, I must stress, again, that they don't actually 'love' each other yet. From past experience with 'The Repeat' I know that I have a tendency to rush into that sort of thing. I mean, it was sort of Chapter five or something in that story, bearing in mind that they only met in chapter one. Big mistake on my part.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Not really much to say this time, aside from thanks for the reviews – they make me so happy!**_

_**So, yeah, please review this one as well. Expect some angst – as you should always expect from me.**_

* * *

Chapter Seven

The young William had played amongst trees, hiding from his mother and his sister. Who he'd soon lost. His laughter was so fuelled by happiness, a ravenous happiness that ate away any trace of sadness, that its shrill ringing tone was almost maniacal. He ran beside rivers with his friends, and moaned when he was made to turn the skipping rope, he threw tennis balls at ducks and shrieked as they would take off full-force in his direction. His friends would laugh and point, and, despite being delirious with fear, he would laugh along.

Then, at seventeen, he'd had to find work outside the village. A new experience. A chance to meet new people. New people that turned out to be Merlin and Gwen. He'd never left, nor had he considered leaving. Loving your work, and loving the people you meet, and loving the place where you live, were three things that Will had come to accept as 'perfect'. He knew he was lucky to have all three. So dissolved in that knowledge, that protection of the facts became mandatory for him.

And, relevantly, _this_ was _not_ the young William. This was the grown William. The one who knew what he wanted, knew how to keep it, and would happily dissipate any threat to change it. That threat had rapidly become Arthur. Which explained why it was, exactly, that Will found himself in Morgana's room that evening. It was consternation that crafted his suddenly husky voice into fluency. But there was no dexterity any longer - just a superior desperation.

"Can I help?" Morgana asked, facing him with her hands clasped across her stomach. Her head tilted in divine concern and her eyes were asking so many other questions. Will had no regrets, and he _needed_ to ask this of her. You cannot regret what is necessary. To get rid of Arthur, he needed it asked. To get rid of Arthur meant things could return to normal. He could tease and mock Merlin to his heart's content, hiding, with promising result, just how much the boy meant to him. Those friends by the river were nothing compared to the unending kindness Merlin showed him, the loyalty was unparalleled. Not that he wanted a parallel. He just wanted his secret best friend to stay with him. Although... The loyalty he'd taken for granted was dwindling - there was barely any loyalty to Will with Arthur around... So, as he'd said. Arthur had to go.

"Yes." He said, standing with diminished authority by the doorway. Not smiling. Not frowning. Showing nothing but lucid indifference. "It's to do with your brother,"

"Arthur." She confirmed, the reservation never leaving her eyes or parted lips.

"I need your help to make him leave."

She didn't continue to hold her set position for a second longer. The request itself was stupid, in her opinion, and her loose shoulders reflected this. A pointless waste of breath. She'd already got that covered - "He leaves with me tomorrow morning."

"No, he doesn't. He's told Merlin he plans to stay."

"Well, why would he want to do that?" The dark-haired woman said, knowing an answer, suddenly breaking the before-steady eye contact, turning her head to glance out of the window. Where she knew she'd be able to see the said servant boy at the vegetable patch. Where she knew she'd see Arthur knelt beside him, devoting the early afternoon to helping Merlin with his chores. Despite the fact that he had promised her a walk. _'Later_', he'd added as he'd seen Merlin pass the sitting-room window. She pondered over how it was that _Merlin_ could be the first person _ever_ to get Arthur to do manual labour. Gardening was for gardeners, she'd thought. Not sons of lords. The answer to her perambulations was always the same, always as dark. Always as true. _If only Arthur himself could see it_. Fighting the warming sensation that came with seeing two people exchanging such vibrant smiles, crouched beneath swooping wispy willow branches and beside pungent flowers that reached for but, only just, gently brushed the sky with their petals, was impossible.

"He says he likes it here, apparently. But, if you ask me, he's getting a little too close to my best friend." He stated. His vehement sentiments echoed nonchalance when vocalised. Caused by the lack of twang that he needed, to make this sound as much like a business deal as he could manage. Morgana nodded in sympathy. Will noticed how she could see past the pretence of indifference, showing hybridised insight - something her next prediction resonated.

"I can see where this is going,"

Will raised an eyebrow, assuming she meant their conversation, but -

"I don't intend to let Arthur be derailed by a servant." She practically spat the last word - the reverberation of Uther.

"'_Derailed_'?"

The dark-haired woman sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed, but never once indicating for the servant to sit beside her. It would be so much simpler if words formed only the truth. That the human mind didn't have influence over them to make them lie. There would be no false friendships, no false love. Her concern for Arthur would not have been spoken as loud as it had yesterday, because it wasn't as strong as she'd made it out to be. Her concern for what Arthur was _doing_ to the boy - he was letting him find hope, find everything anyone could ever want from a friend and from a life shared with someone else, an equal. Only to take not only _that_ away, but the _life _itself as well - would be louder than words. She'd known betrayal, and she thought it had had the same affect on her. Only, she'd been driven to lose the ability to stand her own. Now, she just followed Uther. She envied the qualities that Arthur still maintained. "I knew a man once, his name was Alvarr." Beginning her painful admittance, her head bowed, watching her fingers weave in circles around each other in her lap, "The situation was similar, in principle, to this. He drew me in and I was only too happy to find someone I thought I could trust, someone... _different._" She sighed, heavy in reverie. Her sadness, to onlookers, was somewhat clinical - as if without the depth of emotion you would expect from love. "I couldn't trust him." She shook her head slowly and turned away, so her body was facing the window, where she could entirely watch the two men. Noticing with enmity, and flinching at, how Merlin's head was thrown back in laughter. "Merlin cannot trust Arthur."

Will's mind screamed the obvious '_what? - why is she more worried about Merlin_?' But part of him was singing that half of his work was done before he'd even started it. He decided to play to her mood, letting her control the conversations direction. If you could call it a conversation - Will was quite content with merely agreeing with everything she said. But he felt no compassion towards her tale. Just a sense of relief. "I know,"

Morgana's head spun back. Back to the ushered control of Will's emotional stability. Back to the hostile graves of a friend's determination. "You know what?"

_This _is where Will could return to his subtle method of influence. The method he'd used on Merlin many a time (but this time he wouldn't be sending someone of a guilt trip), "I know about Merlin's magic. I know what Arthur is after, and I know it is only the reward he seeks."

Morgana stood still. Her mouth watered with the desire to succumb to the words her jinxed larynx felt the need to speak - _'Arthur will get no reward other than his father's pride._' But she knew it wouldn't help. Inconsolable ire flared in Will's eyes, pulling his lips marginally back from his teeth, just enough to make him look maddened. She noted how wretched the danger Arthur was in had become - not physical danger, but emotional. And Arthur being Arthur, she knew emotional would swirl several more layers of organic bitterness than any number of swords.

"You need to take him away from here," Will said, his voice cold, as if his reasons were nothing but hate. Morgana could see otherwise, but as her head turned to once again look at the two men laughing and chatting and..._ Gardening..._ She failed to see so many things, as if in second sight:

The deceit that Will assumed,

The narrow one-minded intent that Arthur focused on,

And the feeling that would provoke her to tear him away from something beautiful he'd made for himself.

Truthfully, Morgana knew the rarity that was Arthur's genuine happiness. So to take that from him seemed inhumane.

As Arthur had felt his trust in his father dwindle, so did Morgana. Understanding for the first time, how, regardless of whether or not someone is a sorcerer, one person can make another authentically happy. Not the desperation for happiness Alvarr had let her taste.

She looked, again, to Will. Who was ready to bow out of the room, convinced the deal was sealed. She chose to let him think it, so nodded in return and watched with careful eyes as he disappeared down the corridor. _Her new primary motive - to preserve the happiness Will had reminded her she'd never been allowed to have. _She didn't yet understand why, considering the complications that came with Merlin and Arthur, but the laughter she'd heard through the glass had sparked some muddled envy. She'd never laughed like that with anyone.

―

"Merlin?" Arthur said, breaking the silence that still held the ringing of their laughter.

The addressed looked up with eager eyes; any words that came from Arthur's lips seemed to hold his attention entirely. "Yes?"

But Arthur's face did not show the same serenity, it was lined with worry, and shaded with dread. His aura was thick compared to the light white tranquillity of Merlin's. "I owe you the truth," he gulped, loud enough to send Merlin's pulse racing, his vision was blurring around the edges and his head was filling with that same thickness, "And I need you to know first, that I won't break my promise, and I don't ever want you to think that I am going to act upon... _This_... _Thing_ that I need to tell you,"

Merlin nodded slowly, letting the seriousness prepare him for the worst, his fingers grappling for grass blades to steady himself. As if the cool of nature would spread out and even his attention. His awareness.

"I'm not a property inspector..." He paused to gauge the indecipherable code of emotions that were dancing across Merlin's face. Pain riddled his eyes at being lied to, anger curled his lips, and something else rose in his cheekbones. "I work for my father, we... Or..." he scratched his head, "_My father_," he corrected, "catches sorcerers and-" he didn't want to say it aloud, it would be acknowledging truth. Death should never have to be acknowledged before it has passed.

"Kills them." Merlin finished, knowing _precisely_ what he was doing. And wanting to see it splayed across and distorting Arthur's smooth and untarnished face. Betrayal crawled up his throat, fizzing in bile and weighting his breathing, but he fought to keep it even. Fought and struggled, clinging to those blades of grass as if they were his only constant.

The confirmation came as a shock to Arthur, but Merlin seemed to be taking this well ('seemed' being the operative word). Hearing those words _from Merlin's_ lips only sharpened the evil. Only made him hate his father more. There was so much he needed to ask and do - an arm around the boy's shoulders, just so he knew he'd still be there after the reveal, an uncompromised moment to search Merlin's eyes. He needed to make sure the sadness was not permanent. What he saw now was blank - the sadness so tied and bound by other emotions that it was nearly impossible to see, _to feel_.

Arthur couldn't see Merlin's blood boiling.

"I knew about your magic, Merlin. I was sent here to find you." He spoke slowly, hoping that his tone took on more than a swarm of remorse without hostility. Fingers shivered and trembled where they were pressed into the ground, fingernails wet from sodden earth, they needed to rest on Merlin's shoulder, or his knee or his cheek. Just some token of reassurance of comfort. But he felt so useless - and he felt that his words, and the actions that provoked them, were the embodied devil himself.

Merlin dismissed it, cutting in before Arthur had a chance to continue, words seeming to release something that would otherwise sear at his insides. "Have you killed before?" The words' meanings, when listened to, only angered it.

"No."

"Have you_ caught_ people to be killed?" Merlin was careful to use the word 'people' not 'sorcerers'. Tears played in his tear-ducts - Arthur had _lied_ to him, he'd _promised_, but even that promise was a lie. He'd _trusted _him, and he'd lied and mocked and pretended. It wasn't the thought that he was close to death. It was the deceit that preceded it. He would have died with an unimaginable amount of desolation.

"Not alone. You're supposed to be my first," he quickly outstretched a hand as Merlin stood up and walked, with assertiveness, in his steps as he stormed back in the direction of the house. "Merlin!" Arthur stood to follow. His feet doing as his mind was begging and following the one that it so wanted to love. "I would never do that to you!"

"You liar!" He turned back, throwing a hand at his pursuer, making him stop - Arthur wouldn't deny being scared about the power that hand could control. "You see," Merlin said, picking up on this, "I never would hurt you. I would never lay a finger on you. Not even if my life depended on it." Merlin's mind was clicking the final pieces of the puzzle that was Arthur together, and he nearly snapped his fingers when he was enlightened with the compiled picture. "Anything that_ Uther_ has told you is a lie,"

Arthur wanted to scream it, but instead it only came out as a whisper, "I know."

"Yet you were ready to kill me?"

"I was." He admitted, "But you taught me why that was wrong, without even realising it, you changed how I feel about sorcerers. You made me _hate_ my father."

There was silence. Silence in reality, but an almighty din in the glare that fused between them. Arthur watched as Merlin's tears formed his reply, and he prayed for forgiveness he knew he did not deserve. Whilst Merlin stood and waited for the strength to put up a fight.

He was used to being ordered by Gaius, pushed-around by Will, but this was something completely new... And then he had to get to grips with 'hate'. _I have made someone hate_. Was all he could think. His mind temporarily wiped of Arthur's sins and plagued with his own supposed malice. "I don't want that." He hung his head, tears pouring unreserved down his cheeks, his hands laced themselves in his hair and his chest heaved erratically, "I don't want to make you hate, Arthur. I just want you to tell me the truth."

"And I have." Arthur's raised hand retreated to hang limp by his side - maybe he'd have enough time to explain. But the explanation never seemed to right the wrong. Because this wrong had the potential to be life-ending - and nothing could right that. Again, he was helpless. Helpless and undeserving of help.

"But it's too late. If you_ really_ felt this strongly about it, you'd have told me all this when you found out about my magic. For god's sake it was only _yesterday_! How much can change in one night?!" He laughed, mocking and resentful, "but you didn't_ find out_. Because you already knew. You promised not to tell. You stood there and made me look like a fool! I'd made myself so _vulnerable_ and you still had the nerve to stand there and _lie to me_. Have you no shame? No humility?!"

Nothing.

Shivering still clapped Merlin's voice, reducing it to nothing more than a whisper. But it only drove the meaning harder."I think you should leave with your sister tomorrow. I don't want to have to speak to you anymore." His hands jerked out of his hair and straightened his arms by his sides. With one swift movement his lanky legs were carrying him back to the kitchen door.

Salt and water trickled down Arthur's cheeks, with every step that Merlin took to get away from him, the closer he was becoming to realising the extent of _him and Merlin_. Or at least, what he needed _him and Merlin _to be.

As he saw the kitchen door close behind the boy, it hit him

―

Morgana watched from her window, her mind guessing each word as she felt it slice through the air. She knew the mistake her brother had made, and she knew how badly he would suffer for it. The shell of a man stood facing the house that she could now see displayed the tremor's wake. Tomorrow she would not be here to mop up the tears. Her heart couldn't handle another break.

She knew how Merlin would react to this - she knew the internal, self-destroying depression.

And she knew how Will would react - she knew the hell.

Fighting the desire to leave as soon as she could, right this minute, to save her own ears and compassion, she mentally stapled herself to the floor, making herself watch as Uther's iniquity tore away another bond. Another kind of love.

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_**Please review!  
**_

_**I can feel a heart-felt admittance coming on...**_


	8. Chapter 8

_****_

Just a short angsty chapter – don't hate me for it. There's a turning point coming in chapter nine – so... yeah... hopefully you won't regret waiting for it. Thanks again to everyone for the reviews, and please review this one, I love/need comments!

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Chapter Eight

Even when he tried to touch Merlin's skin with his mind; even when he tried to pull an invented skinny, dark-haired, blue-eyed form in to his arms, there was always the creasing cloth of their clothes separating their skin. But he could feel the cool of Merlin's arms and chest next to his, pounding through his head, and it nauseated him. Even when he could imagine the pressure of Merlin's forehead as it trustingly rested against his chest, it was his _own_ clothes - decided for him and stretched across his own arms and legs and chest and back - that stopped him.

He feared the clothes would never be torn away, letting his fingers truly appreciate that pallid skin, until he abandoned his quest for truth and so-called justice - couldn't he have been happy with the blissful uncertainty he'd previously been allowed to ponder through, to pour over himself. It had been dark, but he had had Merlin. And there had _always been some_ truth...

More than anything, though, he feared his clothes, were, metaphorically in essence, his father. In essence and in purpose - to cloak, to bar and to prevent. As if his brain was trying to tell him something.

Arthur wasn't going to lie to himself anymore. It wasn't friendship that he needed from Merlin... It wasn't just an uncontrollable impulse to see him smile and hear him laugh and feel the glimmer of mutual trust. It was an uncontrollable impulse to see him smile and hear him laugh and feel the glimmer of mutual trust and to know that _he _was the one that caused it. To be the only person close enough to see the smooth and careful planes of his cheeks tell him something - '_the only one'_.

Arthur looked up to see his sister in the window, grace and stature echoed in her still and perfectly refined gaze. Contrasting exquisitely with the way Arthur was carelessly slumped on the grass, green scrubbed into the knees of his trousers, and his hands raking, repeatedly, over-and-over through his golden hair. Tears were close to sticking his eyes shut, whereas his sister merely blinked. Arthur thought she was being heartless. But she knew what she was doing. This was past teaching him a lesson of right and wrong, this was teaching him a lesson of what is and what isn't. The longer she left him there to wallow and to cry and to perceive, the closer he would become to seeing what she had, half an hour before, decided she wanted to protect. The affect that Merlin had on him, and the affect he had on Merlin. That sort of unspoken alliance was gold indeed.

He bent his knees and shakily brought himself to his untrustworthy feet. Swallowing his anger and, what he had deemed to be, greed, he resisted the urge to kick everything in sight. Destruction, he thought, was the only way. If the only thing he had ever wanted _this badly_ had to be destroyed, then so should everything else."Merlin..." he mumbled, his mind not really with his body, as if the name, mumbled as quietly, would bring him back, would alter the numerous wrongs he had willingly committed. Committed because, at first, he had believed them to be right. Now, the only right seemed to be the boy.

He thought back to his journey here - how he'd prayed his catch wouldn't be a child.

He thought a child might have been easier. The child might actually have died. He might actually have returned to Uther as the son he'd always striven to be.

Not crumpled and weak and ready to throw himself into the arms, if not at the feet, of a sorcerer.

―

The serving boy glanced out of the kitchen window, his eyes recoiling at the sight that befell him, the crushed and whimpering man on the lawn, such the opposite of the haughty, well-dressed, well-spoken, well-mannered form of perfection he had seen enter this house the week before. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears. But just because Arthur was out of sight, it didn't mean he was out of mind.

Behind him, he heard the kitchen door open, and a familiarly wretched and sceptical voice followed. "... She was quite adamant that she wouldn't, although I told her a hundred times, _cleaning the toilets is not so bad_, and plus - we're on a rota. Today is her day. The sooner she gets to grips with that, the better. She won't listen though. I think you should try talking to her; she always listens to... Merlin?" Will stopped talking long enough to ask a very undirected question. "Merlin, are you all right?"

Merlin quickly sniffed, wiped his eyes and then turned to face his friend, scrunching his sleeve into a ball in his fist, and bearing his pink face, frail body and singed nerves for what he expected would be more ridicule.

"He told you then?"

Merlin was silent, unmoving as he'd gone to wipe another tear. _Had Will known?_ An uncountable number of profanities began rotating in Merlin's mind, on repeat, on some stupid conveyor belt that only made him increasingly angry. "You knew and you didn't tell me?!" He tried to yell, his voice coarse from tears and the sound grating against the silence. He lunged forwards with a fist raised, but Will caught it before the damage could be done. He struggled for a moment before relaxing, his breathing still heavy and his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he could see it through his clothes. "Why didn't you tell me?" He whimpered. The sound, sweeter than he'd imagine Arthur sounded right now - curled up on the lawn.

"I was going to. Hell, I was probably going to tell you _now_."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably where Will was holding his fist, so the smaller boy released him, confident that he would keep his nose convex. Merlin collapsed into a chair, somewhat exhausted. "How long have you known?"

"Since the day before yesterday," Will said, unnerving nonchalance keeping every word steady, watching out of the corner of his eye as Merlin restrained his fist as it made to make another attempt at Will's life. "But it was only speculation. Yesterday morning was when it was confirmed. Although he never actually said it, I saw his reaction when I confronted him-" Will stopped, apprehending something he'd been, otherwise, too slow to notice. He slapped his forehead at his own idiocy."_Shit_. He's only gone and told you now because he thought I'd tell you first. The bastard!" He smashed his own fist into the wall, feeling the floor shake and hearing Merlin's feet shuffle as he wrestled to get them up on the chair with him. Self-protection. "Bloody Hell! The git never thinks of anyone but himself! Probably feeling sorry for himself now. Now he won't get his reward..."

Everything slowed around Merlin's head, his mouth popped open and he looked up at the fuming Will_ - 'no, that's not true, that's not how things happened'_ -then out of the window where Arthur had minutes ago been thrashing unguarded with furious fists. _There would be no reward other than his father's acceptance. He wouldn't get money from all of this. Arthur had sacrificed the only thing he'd be gaining... For Merlin. For the truth. _If there was one thing Merlin could guess about the likes of Uther Pendragon, it would be that befriending a sorcerer, regardless of whether the sorcerer dies at the end of it, was always perceived as a disgraceful act of misconduct. He examined the patch of grass by the vegetable patch with concerned eyes, each part of him wanting to ignore the hand that had found its way to his shoulder. But no part of him could, not with the strength of that grip. "Will, you can leave now."

"No, I'm not leaving until I know you're okay,"

"I'm fine." He kept his words curt, as Will only deserved. Things might still have been blissfully ignorant if he hadn't stuck his oversized gammy insensitive nose in, "And since when do you care?" Spitting as he spoke, he knew he shouldn't be angry at Will. But if anger was the only way to get him to leave him alone, then anger would have to do.

"Since always."

Merlin looked back up at him then, the way his head was tilted and inclined in Merlin's direction, the undeniable serenity and sincerity in the boy's eyes. The gentle squeeze of his fingers on it grasp of his shoulder bone - all should have softened his opinion, but none of them did. Only made him more furious at the assumption that _all is forgiven_, or _all was always okay to begin with, so there really is no need for forgiveness_. "Please, just leave me alone." His thought patterns were more along the lines of '_Shit off_' - but we won't go there.

"Why should I?" The hand left the shoulder as rejection sunk its teeth into the side of his neck, and he visibly winced.

"I need to be alone, and your usual stupid insensitive remarks won't exactly leave me free to think."

"You know I don't mean them." He laughed, as if every little thing that he'd said, that Merlin picked up on and hated and cried because of - was only ever a joke. As if he was saying _'Come on, Merlin, laugh it off_'.

"You sounded pretty certain when you told me that, and I quote, _'we don't want your kind 'round here_',"

"Merlin, that was years ago." He was nearly begging, kneeling down so he was on eye level - a gesture that Merlin thought was supposed to make him think that he thought they were equal. Truthfully, Merlin thought Will thought him inferior.

There was a pause, the duration of which Merlin spent controlling the urge to speak a question that needed to be asked to someone else. Because the pain that came with its brittle fingers being withdrawn and stuffed inside his chest was comparable to his heart slowly rotting. But the ache had left his lips before he could stop it, "Why can't I trust anyone?"

"You _can_ trust me."

Merlin kept silent, still watching his friend with mounting inaudible threats. _How dare Will assume he had any clout over dampening Merlin's disdain? There was only one who could go some way to making him feel... Secure again. and it most certainly was not him._

Something in Merlin's eyes told Will he wasn't going to win this battle, and something made him scared, so he let a finger trail the darker-haired, solemn boy's cheekbone and then left. Making sure the door didn't slam behind him.

He looked out of the window again, letting fresh tears of acknowledged reality trickle down his face. _Why can't anyone just let me have what I want? Why is it that whenever I think I've made a friend, there's always some part of them that backtracks? _

_Or maybe it's me. Maybe it's my magic. Maybe that's the part of _me_ that causes the backtracking._

_But surely I can be allowed the smallest taste of what it's like to _let_ yourself fall in love?_

_No. Uther Pendragon is right - if sorcerers only endure heartbreak and pain and inadequacies, why should they _have_ to live? Maybe he's been doing us all a favour._

―

Arthur opened his bedroom door, doing everything but concentrating as he removed his jacket, chucked it by the wardrobe and slumped onto his bed. He covered his head with a pillow and let tears wear him down into a barely conscious miserable sleep.

He didn't wake when Merlin came in the next morning, stood beside his bed for less than a minute before setting about his usual chores. But when he did, with numbing calmness, he noted how the jacket was now neatly folded on the end of his bed, a small slip of parchment was laid gently on top. He reached for it and read:

_Saving myself some ironing_.

He tired to smile, he really did, but all that happened was his face contorted into a gargoyle grimace, and he sucked in a mouthful of air through gritted teeth to stop himself crying again. _I don't deserve to feel Merlin's forgiveness. _

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_**Please review!**_

_**Oh, and chapter nine probs won't be up for a while (probably, although I might be able to post – holiday in Devon (hahaha!... it's my middle name... I thought it was funny.) You see)**_

_**So please be patient!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I'm back! Although, I don't really feel that it's a good thing at the moment. Devon was a hell of a lot more... quiet etc. And it was fun, even if my foot did practically collapse, rendering me nigh on useless for the majority of the week. But, ah well, can't be helped. **_

_**This chapter wasn't meant to be as short, but I couldn't think of what else to put in it. **_

_**Again, thank you for the reviews, and for being patient. And, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know, I can feel some slash coming on – not just the airy-fairy skirt around the truth stuff I've been lumbering you with up until now. **_

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Chapter Nine

_I swear it was like divine inspiration. An insane thought that burst into terrific existence in my head, linking back to something I'd noticed before - _

_My first recognition of Merlin's baggy and tattered clothes, and now the ironing note. And then back to my previous thought about _those clothes looking good on Merlin_. It was all too perfect. My mind was screaming that it wouldn't be enough. But I didn't need it to be. If only it provoked some awareness that _I wanted Merlin alive, not dead_. Surely that was _more_ than enough. Surely he would hear the apology in that; surely he would see its sincerity. _

_I was certainly allowed to hope. Allowance was vital. Allowance gave me its own special permission to let the hope fill me up, swell and flourish inside me. As hope always should. No matter how small the problem._

_I threw the note back down on the jacket, and searched through my wardrobe. I can't say I've ever felt my heart beat as fast as it was beating then. My rapidly blinking eyes seemed to be ignoring everything except the clothes I was looking for, because I remember seeing no others. Latching my fingers onto something soft that bled bright and beautiful colours around my hands, I pulled it away from any other insipid attempts at colour and held the red ruffled shirt out in front of me, and then folded it on my bed, and returned to find the breeches. Perfect. Always perfect._

_But then my attention was drawn away as I heard the knock. Always a knock to seize the attention, always a knock, always intending to make you think twice. But dazed and harrowed minds don't bear the capacity to think twice. So fate's endeavour came to nothing._

_"I'm leaving now," Morgana said, her pretty features showed no emotion. And her voice echoed the nonchalance and distance she was striving for. Flat and boring tones would only ever say disinterest, and disinterest was all that I heard._

_I wasn't angry at her for doing something that could be perceived as running, in fact, at the time, I was all for her going. One less person to negotiate. Although, I'd like to make something very clear - I don't blame her for not trying to comfort me yesterday, this had never been up to her. She shouldn't feel the need to help. Because it's not her job. I'm old enough to look after myself now - despite the phrase itself sounding childish. This in tow, I nodded._

_"I wanted to wish you luck," her head twitched as she spoke, betraying the tiniest flicker of feeling, and her hands clasped themselves plainly in front of her stomach as they would usually be found. Cogs ticked over inside my skull, trying to work out what it was that she meant, what it was that I needed luck for. "But I hope you realise that Merlin deserves better." She gave a small smile, and awaited my reply._

_My tongue flipped back in my mouth and blocked any breathing for a second; I coughed and took a wary step forwards, "You know how I feel?" It was a risk - if I had it wrong, and she was merely falling into the uncaring grasp of coincidence, then she would demand my reasoning, and, by God, her icy claims would steal it for her. If I had it right..._

_"Of course. Anyone who knows you would be able to work it out. You're so subtly unsubtle." She giggled, a little too smug, but then seriousness took her face as she watched the floor with unfocused and suddenly teary eyes, "I spoke to him this morning," her features were long, and my heart had skipped so many beats I forgotten the fingers to count, "and he still thinks you're leaving with me."_

_"I'm not."I replied quickly - hastily correcting any misconceptions before unintended mistakes could be made._

_"I know, Arthur." She breathed, and my restarted it's heavy slow clicks as I realised - she'd accepted that I wouldn't be coming, she'd come to that deduction the second she'd assumed my feelings. That was something I'd never properly understood about Morgana - she showed such bitterness, so many morals and persistent harshness, but she was forever capable of exceptional compassion. "He's taken my suitcase down to the carriage, and I expect you to wave me off. He'll be there as well. Gaius will want him to be gracious." She stated, tilting her chin upwards in finality. "Don't blow anymore of your chances, hmm?" Her lips twitched in sweet and sour threat before she turned away from me and glided with her usual Morgana elegance out of the door. _

_I nodded and watched her leave, smiling as I recollected the finer details of our conversation, of its situation, as I recollected the fact that her hair had been _behind her shoulders_. She'd obviously decided that she no longer needed that '_tool'_. Not with Merlin on the loose - or rather, on _my heart_. There was something so incredible about that woman, not that I knew what it was. Just that it never failed to wow me. _

_Within half an hour, I followed her down to the hall._

―

Merlin stood by the front door, having already taken the baggage out and placed it cautiously on the back seats, his hands were held behind his back by his own nervousness as Arthur descended the stairs. His eyes never made contact with the man's who he still wanted to call the _inspector_, but that wasn't to say he wasn't watching him, nodding as the blond made to pass him. Uncertainty once again overwhelmed him as, with the vision of Arthur Pendragon before him, he remembered the betrayal, remembered how angry he'd felt at the deceit, realised how that anger no longer even touched him. However, he knew Arthur still expected him to be angry. A small smile flicked his upper lip as he thought of all the ways Arthur might try to make it up to him. It was safe to say, he'd be disappointed by a simple bouquet of flowers. Betrayal required so much more than that...

Arthur held a hand out to help Morgana into the carriage, feeling her cold and metal smooth skin against his own, and finding no pleasure in it. Not as he had as recently as the beginning of last week. With a brisk and curt nod he motioned the driver to prepare to leave, who tightened the reigns he was holding. He turned to his sister and whispered a few final words. Letting the beauty and bliss that begged to befall him as he spoke them, befall him. "Tell father I won't be coming back,"

The polite smile left her face, and was replaced by a small and furrowed expression of longing. Of something that she yearned for but could not let herself have - Arthur blinked and he missed it, "I'll miss you."

He laughed, the sound rippling across the deserted driveway, carried away on a desolate breeze that seemed to weave its way over the quilts of hills - because Merlin heard it seven times over. "I expected nothing less."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered a conclusive 'Good luck', then let the carriage pull her away.

The image shrunk, the further away she got, and Arthur let out a sigh of suppressed release. He watched the trees swaying gently and heard their whisper, and to that, the lengthening grass seemed to reply with a parallel tranquillity. A tranquillity that Arthur would venture to find within himself, using a key that was ready crafted with exquisite shape and gold glint. The key being Merlin.

―

_I won't deny being scared for him - no one should feel the need to hide something that eats away at them with quite that amount of vigour. A father should be prepared and willing to understand - and I won't deny being scared for Merlin. I feared that the desire I had seen and heard and imagined in him to be loved would overwhelm his sense of judgement. How could anyone possibly know if Merlin returned Arthur's fervour?_

_However, these past two days had given me reason to think for myself. To realise a fear that should have spiked more recognition than it did. If Arthur could forget and put behind him his irrational fear of magic and his father, then why couldn't I? Why couldn't I accept something that I was?_

_If I went through with the confrontation I was preparing myself for with Uther, Arthur might be seeing me a lot sooner than he'd concluded. If I went through, that is, with my confession to Uther... That I had magic..._

―

Arthur's eyes were held by the empty space for a second longer, trying not to think about and turn to meet the confused and anxious gaze that would be watching him.

"I knew you wouldn't leave." Was the only thing that he heard, the width of the sound convinced him Merlin was smiling, and the grin that he was presented with as the boy rounded him did not disappoint on any level: heart-draining sadness, uncontainable joy, and blissful peacefulness.

Arthur so wanted to ask _'Am I forgiven?_' but he was too scared that the answer would be '_no'_. To fall at the first hurdle would indicate that he'd never really been in the race, "Really?"

"Yeah." The tone to Merlin's voice would have fitted so perfectly as a response to the question Arthur had wanted to ask, but instead its meaning was trivial. Trivial in comparison. But Arthur still found himself clinging to the very sound.

"Merlin?" He suddenly thought, taking this time as good as any, but didn't wait for the '_yes_' that was inevitably coming, "I..." He paused and half-smiled, "Follow me." He darted towards the house; he leapt up the porch steps and around the open door, catching a loose flap of sleeve on the wood. Hearing the servant hot on his heels (only with less impressively stable and rhythmic footsteps) rammed butterflies and roses - thorns and all - into his chest, and he did all he could to follow them with more. The clacks brought with them the concept of _someone_. The concept of someone wanting to follow them, the concept of someone that is willing to follow them, the concept of never having to hear a single set of footsteps to feel that you are but one person. And the concept choked the both of them.

Gaius' eyebrow was raised as they passed him on the landing.

Arthur stopped when he reached his bedroom, turning to see the pink-cheeked Merlin stumble in after him five split-seconds later.

"Well," Merlin said, "That was childish," he leaned against the bedpost to gather his breath, always watching the already-composed sorcerer-hunter.

Arthur threw his head back and laughed, letting the joy flood down his throat from the pleasure that his eyes were being allowed to behold to the fidgety unsettling that crushed the balance in his feet.

Merlin grinned back, but his eyes quickly reverted to the floor. Again, when the vision of Arthur brought back the memories of betrayal.

Impulse drove Arthur's next words, an impulse that fought to fizzle out any remaining ice with heated clawing fingertips, "I can't expect you to forgive me, Merlin. Ever." He smiled, and watched Merlin duck his head, "but I... I don't want you to hate me-"

"Arthur, don't be stupid, I don't _hate you_." His head snapped up as quickly as it had lowered and a hand elaborately portrayed his truth, enough that Arthur saw nothing but.

"Well, you should."

"Well, I don't."

Arthur stared for little more than a moment, eagerly lapping up that smile and the words that denied all hate - because that was what his next actions were meant to achieve. Only, they had already been achieved. Nevertheless, he spun around, grabbing the clothes from the place where he'd folded them neatly on his bed. Disregarding his earlier attempts at being domesticated. Before breathing deeply, tightening and then relaxing his grip on them - exerting any doubt and diminishing and nerves - and then turning to give them to Merlin.

"What's this?" Merlin looked genuinely confused, as if he'd never seen clothes before. Arthur looked his up and down, acknowledging the rags the boy wore - _no, I don't suppose he has_.

"I'd like you to put them on." He said, keeping his voice surprisingly soft and tender. The only tone he thought anyone should ever have to use with Merlin.

"What?"

"I thought, a few days ago, that they'd suit you. So, I'd like you to wear them."

Merlin blushed, grinning like an idiot. His hand stuttered by his side, as if deliberating over whether or not this was a good idea. Judging by the hot skin that brushed Arthur's finger, stealing his breath, a minute later, he'd decided to damn good ideas.

Nodding his thanks, he left to change.

And Arthur watched lustrous ebony hair and a thin un-muscled body disappear into the bathroom, grinning like the idiot that he'd seen in Merlin's grin minutes before.

The boy was back within five minutes, returning just as he was finishing fastening the top button.

"No, no, come here." Arthur beckoned with his hand, but made a few steps towards the boy anyway, brushing Merlin's fingers off the button and undoing it. "There. You don't look so much of an idiot now,"

"But I did before?"

"No... But now, you look..." He stepped back to admire it. The glimpse of pale skin where he'd just opened the button, the cling of the material around his skinny wrists and lean waist. The way his legs looked even thinner in the darker cloth. The unconfident uneven weighting that he stood with... _That_ wouldn't do... "You look good." He coughed and scratched the back of his neck, "You look good."

"Thanks... Um... When do you want them back?"

"Back? Oh, I don't want them back," he stepped towards him again, not needing to _outstretch_ a hand to brush a crease out of the material on the shoulder. He noted how Merlin's eyes widened - probably to do with the gift, not the proximity.

"Arthur, they're too expensive for a servant," he whispered, his breath pattering against Arthur's face - a sensation Arthur didn't intend to forget.

Then came Arthur's next slip, spilling from his mouth as if the mere feel of Merlin so close was messing with his head, "Nothing's too expensive for you." ... _Ah_...

Merlin blushed and turned to face the door, desperately trying to hide how much that statement stirred within him - even though he'd soon resign himself to the supposed reality that it had either been sarcasm, or a friendly note. "Are you sure about that?" He asked, prying for an answer, prying and praying that Arthur would say _much_ more with a similar delicacy. Slinging one leg over the other, he sat himself on Arthur's bed, contently watching, "I mean, would your father agree with you?"

"Merlin, I don't care about Uther. If he knew you then he'd realise." Arthur said without a second thought - second thoughts only caused doubt - and slumped beside the thinner boy. He leant forwards, maintaining a safe distance by a straitened arm locked in place by the bed. He hoped the intensity he could feel in his own gaze might convey the truth his tongue was too cowardly to speak.

"Realise what, exactly?" Still praying, and still unable to manage anything above a whisper.

The blond thought, and despite his position of great control, he took the way out that his tongue had chosen. He chose to push himself away, turn his eyes to something else - something he saw less interest in - and turn his voice to something he hated to talk about, "That not all sorcerers are evil."

Merlin laughed softly, "Great."

"Merlin, I don't think he... Well, I..." Arthur stammered, not sure how best to phrase his pathetic attempt at reassurance - and maybe something more, if only he dropped his guard.

"You want me to keep the clothes?" Merlin tried - his question seemingly innocent. But he and Arthur both heard the silent understanding that was passing between them, and it felt like so restraining to keep that pointless pretence that may as well have been silence. Merlin wanted so dearly to feel something, something that resembled bravery, that would let him speak his mind, let him ask the questions he was dying to ask. But, regardless of the fancy clothes that would surely make him appear upper-class, he was still a serving boy in rags. No serving boy should speak those sorts of thoughts.

"Yeah, something like that." Arthur smiled, and Merlin nodded to leave the room. Arthur didn't try to stop him, believing, with a strangled reluctance that some things are better left unsaid.

At least for now.

* * *

_**My eyes are nearly closed – too much Graphics coursework and I've already missed the deadline. Not a good situation to be in, if you ask me. So, that's my pathetic excuse for why the end of this chapter (and probably the rest of it) is more than a little bit rubbish. I do apologise, but I owed you a chapter, I tried my hardest, honest.**_

_**Please review and I'll try to make the next better,**_

_**Oh, and very very very excited about Glee tonight! I think I might write a fic about Kurt, because, well, let's face it, he is spectacular! (There is surely no other word to describe him)**_

_**Sorry, I'm waffling...**_


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